Zulu
by Angelinsydney
Summary: Sam Braddock agreed to participate in a rescue mission with Jules' blessing. Nothing was ever going to be simple.This adrenaline-filled story will take Sam and a team of action heroes from Toronto to Sumatra to Singapore; and lots of action in the middle of the Java Sea. Lots of drama and whump of epic proportion! Inching forward to 7,000 hits. AWESOME.
1. Zulu

_Author's Note: START was first mentioned in the multi-chapter story "The Long Shadow of Michaelangelo 'Spike' Scarlatti._

_Blondie, Sam's Special Forces nickname was first revealed in the Wordy-centric multi-chapter story "Beyond this Place of Blood and Tears." Nick Coyle, nicknamed Thunderhead was introduced in the same story._

_Juan Salvador y Ruiz, nicknamed Aguila was first introduced in the story "Treasures."_

_My sincere apologies to Singapore Airlines for using "Singapore Girl" in my story... it simply fitted the bill to a T. And, of course, as everyone knows, I don't own Flashpoint._

**Zulu**

The wristwatch should have been a clue that something major was afoot, but since he had lived most of his adult life on a needs-to-know basis, not even his wife of a year, Constable Jules Callaghan and the mother of his daughter, Sadie, knew of the significance. He hated the secrecy but he has no option, it was the only way to keep his family safe in any eventuality.

Yesterday, less than 24 hours ago, he was discreetly approached by military intelligence for a one-off assignment. He was well and truly entrenched in his new role as Team Leader of Team Three, Strategic Response Unit, Toronto and been out of the military for six years so he was surprised at the sudden call up. Six years, in military time-line, was ancient history.

The meeting was arranged through a third party, not his Dad because for once the General had nothing to do with it; in fact the approach was done, of all people, by Sgt Greg Parker current head of START (Special Terror Alert Response Team) and also Boss at the Police Academy.

Braddock was asked to come to a meeting at a secure location,in a nondescript century old two-storey building on Yonge St. On the outside, the building looked like any old shell. Part of the metal awning had peeling paint and the windows appeared to be in need of a good wash but inside it was an entirely different story altogether. It was freshly renovated with the latest anti-spying technology in place. Sparsely furnished, obviously the interior designer had one short brief: keep it simple.

He was buzz through by an unseen person. Sam sat on a comfortable two-seater couch as he waited to be shown to the meeting room, flipped through a magazine, aware but totally ignoring the camera that was recording his every move. He was tempted to give it the finger but decided that was too infantile even for him.

He didn't have to wait long, just two minutes, that was all. The door opened and a junior staff from military intelligence came out to get him, he was led into a room then the staff disappeared into the belly of the building somewhere. The Officer smiled at him, "Would you prefer Constable Braddock or Blondie?"

Braddock gave a tiny smile, "Sam, actually. Blondie was a lifetime ago."

The Officer simply said, "As you wish, Sam. Please have a sit. Tea or coffee?"

Just to be difficult, he said, "Cappuchino, one sugar." After all this is a government office, what were the chances they'd have access to the frothy variety. He'd be lucky to get premium blend of instant coffee, not that premium and instant should be mentioned in the same sentence. To his surprise, the Officer got up and opened a cupboard to reveal a brand new Italian coffeemaker, he piped up, "Well, there's been some changes since I left the service."

The Officer replied with a smile, "I love coffee so I trained to become a barista. You know the saying, 'If you want it done right do it yourself'."

Their coffees made right and served, cupcakes also appeared, delivered by another staffer. It was at this stage that Braddock worried. The military didn't lay out the red carpet unless...

"Help yourself, Sam. What have we have here? This looks like chocolate cupcake, poppy seed and orange, apple... yuck!" And the Officer made a face, it was disarming but it didn't work its full magic on Sam. Unable to contain his curiosity anymore, he asked pointedly, "So what is this about?"

The Officer bit down on a poppy seed and orange cupcake, chewed it slowly, then sipped his coffee to aid the swallowing reflex. The ritual done he answered in the most straight-forward manner, "We need your help. We're forming an international team to rescue a nuclear physicist and Professor Emeritus kidnapped by insurgents while on holiday in Bali with his family. I don't have to spell out to you what could happen next."

"Why me? What's with all the serving JTF-2 commandos at your disposal?"

"There all on active duty, we couldn't spare a man and we needed someone who's not been on the Circuit. You fit the profile of who we need. Combat ready, had military background but long off the radar. We needed someone we could rely on 100%."

"Who are the others on the Team?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that until you give me an affirmative answer. It's all top secret and need-to-know. All I can tell you is the clock's ticking, Prof Singh is currently being held in a yacht in the middle of Java Sea, just off the coast of Sumatra for now. We believe they're going to move him to Pakistan via the Indian Ocean. Sam, time is of the essence."

Braddock cupped his mouth with his hand, thoughtful, his next question was "Why are we involved?"

The answer came swiftly, "Prof Singh is one of our own, he's Canadian. We have to do all we can to get him back. His work in nuclear technology is top class, the man's a genius... it's all hands on deck. The Americans are sending one of their own, the Brits and the Singaporean. The Aussies will be on hand with logistics personnel and the pilot who'll get you in and for the exfil."

"What's the timeline?"

"The Team is here now... you're the last one in. The minute you say 'yes' briefing will be scheduled for tomorrow at 0800. You won't need to worry about finding a temporary replacement for SRU, that will all be handled internally by Commander Holleran and SRU Team leadership."

Braddock rested his elbows on the table, if he were single, it wouldn't be a hard decision to make, but he's a married man now and a father to boot. How could he just simply up and walk and put himself in harm's way? But the reality was he did that everyday. The only difference being he did that openly at home; not overseas and in secret.

"Have you tried asking someone else?"

"Honestly... no. You were our only choice. As I said, you fit the bill. Just so you know, we don't expect you to be part of the assault team. You'd be coordinating the rescue from land."

The Officer pushed an envelope towards him, a complete dossier of Prof Singh. "Take your time, have a read, it might help you make up your mind." Then he stood to leave, "I'll be back shortly." He, too, disappeared somewhere. Sam observed that the building seem to swallow people.

Where these people were hiding was a secret room in the middle of the building, equipped with the latest gadgets money could buy and couldn't buy for that matter. They were watching Sam Braddock peruse the dossier, keenly reading his facial expressions and body language. As Sam read, he came to the conclusion that they should either rescue the professor or kill him before the insurgents could use his genius to wreck havoc. He shook his head, no one should have had that much intelligence... it's just insane.

Before the Officer returned to the room, he already knew what Sam's answer would be so it was no surprise when Braddock said, "I'm in."

"We will see you at 0800 tomorrow, ZULU."

"What's the time now?" he asked.

"1130" was the reply. Sam checked his time, they were synchronised, so far.

Sam drove home thinking what to say to Jules, he decided discretion is the better part of valour but he also made a promise to her that he would not keep secrets; so a compromise was in order. That evening, after Sadie has been put to bed he told Jules of the morning's meeting and of his decision to take part. But he also said that he couldn't say much more. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, the strict compliance to need-to-know was to protect the soldier's families from being targets. The less they knew, the safer they were. Jules, to his relief, said she understood and gave her blessing.

Sam was dressed and ready to go at 0700, this time he wasn't wearing his Suunto X10 Military watch, a trusty piece of kit that's cheap and reliable in the theatre of war. This time, it's different. They would be operating on Zulu time or Coordinated Universal Time. And the operation would be planned, and executed to within seconds; precision would be all important therefore so should their time keeping.

Sam usually wore his Suunto on military operations that required him to be on sniper stag; knee-deep in mud and covered in camo net. Or in fierce firefights, but where every second counts he depended on his Rolex Submariner. While cheap watches could be dependable, they all lose precious second every day, so before you know it, you could be a minute or 60 seconds off your rendezvous. Back in the day, it costs him several months pay, and all he got for it was the stainless steel make and model.

Sam arrived at precisely 0800, he entered the building as he heard the faint click, someone was clearly anticipating his arrival and was fast on the button. He went straight to the meeting room to come face-to-face with someone from his past. Nick coyle, nicknamed Thunderhead, serving member of the UKSF or SAS to most people. He operated as a member of the "Increment" a black ops unit within UKSF.

Another man was in attendance, Hispanic American, formerly Delta Force, now operating clandestinely as a mercenary of sort. He was introduced to Sam as Juan Salvador y Ruiz or Aguila to those who knew him in the business.

They shook hands and waited in silence for the fourth man on the Team who was, they learned as she walked in the door, Miss Singapore. Or more appropriately, Singapore Girl. In a voice that was both dainty and clear with a slight hint of British accent, she said, "I apologise, the flight was delayed." She was still wearing the world famous figure-hugging batik uniform of Singapore Airlines.

At that very moment, three military officers walked in, and they looked like Armageddon has happened and they were caught in the middle of it. In fact, one looked decidedly sick.

They all thought, _What in heaven's name did we get ourselves into? _


	2. Reality Check

_Author's Note: I would have liked to update sooner but research had to be done. To achieve authenticity, I derived a lot of the information from the official website of the Canadian Forces. Research material on Singapore's SID was thin but then that was to be expected._

_Most of this is a figment of my very active imagination._

**Reality Check**

As they filed into the room, the three Officers formed a rigid line before them resplendent in their uniform, the contrast of their demeanour to that of the four operatives could not have been more stark. Sam was seating on the sofa, feet crossed, arms across his chest; Aguila was standing next to the window, his shoulder leaning against it; Thunderhead was resting his backside against the conference table, his palms resting on it as his fingers played an imaginary upside down keyboard; and, Singapore Girl sat delicately, her legs crossed in a feminine way, removing some imaginary fluff from her batik flight attendant uniform. There was no disrespect, just that none of the operatives were into the rigidity business.

Without much ado, the senior of the three made the introduction, "I'm Colonel Jim Hendricks with the Intelligence Branch of the Canadian Forces. These are Lt Nancy Jones, Senior Strategic Analyst and to my left Captain Arthur Lin, Senior Intelligence Operations Officer."

The Colonel tried to smile but appeared to be out of practice, he rocked on his heels once then got straight back to the business at hand, "I want to thank you all for coming. Let me get the formality aside, and introduce you, though I'm sure some of you know each other." He glanced around the room, with a nod to Singapore Girl, he said to all, "Cindy Lau, Security and Intelligence Division (SID), Ministry of Defense Singapore." It really was no surprise but all three men had exactly the same thought at the same time, _Great! Spook!_

Following his line of sight from left to right, he then said, "Samuel Braddock, former JTF-2 Commando, nickname Blondie. Now, with _the_ Toronto police unit." Sam acknowledged him with a courteous nod.

"Juan Salvador y Ruiz, former Delta Force, nickname Aguila. Now, a freelance operative. Lastly, Nick Coyle, UKSF, nickname Thunderhead. Now, that you've all been introduced. It's time for your pre-flight briefing." The Colonel glanced to his right, "Lt Jones."

_Pre-flight briefing, _his brain reiterated. Sam felt himself stiffen, as if it just occurred to him that this was for real. It's not a tactical game, not a simulation, not an exercise. He was playing for real._Is it too late to retreat? To ditch the team and be selfish?_ He scolded himself, _Not selfish. Practical. I'm a husband and a father for fuck's sake. _He controlled his breathing as the debate raged in his head. On the other hand, he has given his word, his commitment. He would follow through but he would get one thing sorted before deploying... just in case. _Hold that thought, Braddock._

The Lieutenant stepped forward. She was young, she looked no older than many ripped jeans-clad university students. Sam thought at a guess she would be around 24, with a long way to go as far as life experiences go. They felt sorry for her, she looked as though she was out of her depth. Or perhaps just distracted or sick but clearly all was not well as she struggled to even keep her hands steady.

Her voice broke a little when she finally spoke, "First, I want to inform you... before I go into your mission specific that we have received news one of our agents on the ground has been killed in Indonesia. At 0700 this morning, his body was found..." She paused, unsure how she could go on without exposing her frailty further. She earned a stern look from her superiors.

Sam saw something of himself in her but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was he was seeing precisely. Perhaps it was because of his disengagement from the military or his five years with SRU under Sgt Parker or his one year as team leader or his marriage to Jules or becoming a father or all of the above; but he was empathetic, sensitive to the struggles of the young officer.

The others felt empathy, too, because time in the field, on the ground, in the heat of battle in the theatre of war could make one see what others don't.

Sam did what Sam would, he spoke up, "Col. Hendricks, with due respect, can we have a private conversation with Lt Jones?"

"As you wish," he said but added, quite rightly, that time was of the essence and briefing should be underway as soon as possible. Aguila replied curtly yet without malice, but with a heap of street wise sense, "Sooner we sort this shit out, the quicker we'll get there." Point taken.

As soon as the other officers stepped out, Thunderhead said, "Lieutenant, at ease," and gave her a disarming smile. "Have a seat." She sat down and apologise, "Sorry, I was unprofessional."

Aguila snorted, "Professional is overrated. Do we look professional to you?"

"Speak for yourself," countered Cindy, then turning back to the officer, she said. "Ignore him..."

"...at your peril," volleyed back Aguila.

Initially, she didn't know what to expect but certainly not this; not this friendly support. Cindy moved a little closer to her, tilted her head to one side, a non-verbal cue which she read as, "Go on, tell me, what's the problem."

She was about to start when Thunderhead raised a finger then put it on his lips. He looked up at the ceiling, and did the 'slitting' motion with his hand. The sign language told the Communication Officer in the belly of the building to "kill" the camera and any listening devices. He sought the approval of the Colonel who standing right beside him. "It's ok," he said and the gadgets were turned off. The flickering green light inside the smoke alarm disappeared. Satisfied Thunderhead looked at her encouragingly, "Go ahead."

She opened up, "It's my team's job to recognise and interpret information likely to affect military operations and national policies. We make recommendations and give advice to the powers-that-be. It's not an easy thing to do. Sometimes the chatters and the signals are confusing or faint or obscure... We have to form opinions one way or the other and make recommendations. When we get it right, it's great but when we get it wrong... it can get people killed." Sam thought, _**That**_ was what he was recognising in her, _the weight of guilt on her shoulders._

He said, "Nancy... May I call you Nancy?" she nodded.

"Nancy, not because someone died you got it wrong."

Aguila who was still standing next to the window said, "Field agents like us know that when we go behind enemy lines we might not come back. It's not like we enlisted to go on a cruise. We know the risks. Your agent knew the risks. It may have been his mistake, not your team's." **Reality check!** Sam massaged his forehead to ease a headache that started as a faint throb; it's now threatening to become a full-blown migraine. _Is this my body rebelling? Telling me to stay the hell away from cowboys and Indians? Warning me to stay within my comfort zone. It's not a cruise, Braddock! It's a covert operation for cryin' out loud! What was I thinking?_

He forced himself to listen to Lt. Jones..._What is she saying? _She was saying, "It's a tough call sending people out there from the safety of our office knowing that with any mistake we make we put their lives in danger."

Cindy spoke, "Look," she said, "We're both in the intelligence business. The only difference is you're an in-house analyst and I'm a field operative. Do I get it wrong? Hell, yeah... but someone has to do it. We get it wrong so be it. Better than not doing anything because that meant being wrong all the time."

After a minute pause, Sam asked, not to sticky beak but just to keep her talking, "Is he someone you know?"

"No, I only know him from his personnel file but it still makes me feel awful... sad. Really sad."

"Don't worry you'll grow into the job," said Aguila. It may have sounded insensitive coming from Aguila, spoken in his Santa Ana barrio intonation, it was nevertheless God's honest truth. As a young gun, Lt Nancy Jones still has her youthful idealism about her but they know that with age; and real-life experiences; would came stoicism and a tougher shell to crack. Then, he added, "But the day you stop questioning yourself... the day you stop feeling and asking if you may have possibly gotten it wrong, that would be the day to quit."

"Is this the first death on your watch?" asked Cindy. The Lieutenant nodded, "That's understandable then. The first is always the most difficult to deal with. As Aguila said we go in with our eyes wide open. We take the intelligence you supply but that's not all we take. We bring with us vast experiences and skill sets to match the opponent. So don't blame yourself. As Sam said not because someone died, you guys got it wrong. In fact, he's probably dead because you got it right."

They heard shuffling noises outside, it meant someone was becoming very impatient, Cindy asked if she was alright. Touched by the concern, at that moment, she was just plain Citizen Nancy Jones, vulnerable and conflicted, she simply replied with a plea, "Please... you all come back safe."

"I take it then we're going on the basis of your intelligence gathering," said Sam.

"Yes, we're all fairly confident...," she said softly.

"Well then no problemo... that's much better than some of the hogwash I've been fed in my life-time," said Aguila.

"Or the bollocks I've been made to swallow," said Thunderhead. "Don't worry your pretty little head, neither God nor the devil want me in their fiefdom so I'd be around, don't know about these three."

Sam half-jokingly said, "I've got a wife and a daughter so I'd supply these three to the Taliban if it's the only way to come home."

Cindy said, "I've got five more lives in me."

More shuffling noises, so Lt Jones thanked them, and said, "I feel a little less burdened. No doubt there will be a review and an investigation..." she stopped to inwardly contemplate the unfinished sentence. Then she stood up, straightened herself before going to open the door, Lt Lin entered quietly, "Colonel Hendricks is unable to be with us, he has been called to an urgent security meeting," dropping all pretenses of formality, he added, "In other words, shits have hit the fan. Lt Jones and I will brief you," he looked to the young woman, "Go ahead Lieutenant Jones."

With poise and confidence, the young female officer briefed them on the flight plan, contact details of field agents they were to get in touch upon reaching Singapore and name of the arms' supplier inside Indonesia, apart from these the battle plan was left for them to work out among themselves. They would have to work it out on the fly ... by the seat of their pants.

Finally, Jones said, "Your gears have been packed for you... you leave in an hour."

Captain Lin took over from the young Lieutenant, "Let's set out time." This was always, without fail, a key element of any mission, the synchronisation of time because otherwise everything was doomed to fail. They would be based in different time zones. The operatives in one, the logistics and rescue crew in another, the communication hub and support crew in yet another. Everyone from Canada, to Singapore, to Indonesia to Australia would simply have to bloody well be on ZULU or Universal Coordinated Time.

Aguila moved to join them. He and Thunderhead were wearing Omega Seamasters, Cindy favoured a feminine slim Patek Philippe. They were wearing expensive watches for precisely the same reason, because on this sort of operation, when every second count, you need watches that kept ticking when all others have failed, and one that didn't fall behind. And though they were pricey, they didn't have fancy bells and whistles like those glow in the dark thing. Simple really: If you can see it in the dark, so can your enemy.

After the briefing, Sam walked with Captain Lin to verify one thing and one thing only. He wanted to know if he was, for this assignment, a G.I. _Government insured._ Life insurance didn't pay out when someone died as a result of war, especially not to someone who accepted the risk to go to one.

Captain Lin replied in the affirmative, "Yes, Sir, you are." Sam took a deep breathe, he gratefully tapped the young officer on the shoulder, who added,"Be safe, Sir."

"You bet," he said.

He fired his phone and called Jules, she answered after just one ring, "Hey, Samtastic, how did it all go?"

He faked the enthusiasm, he'd rather be home with her and Sadie and mind Team Three's business, he replied with the usual bullshit, "Good."

Followed by, "Everything been laid out for us. We leave in an hour. How's Sadie?"

"I just put her down to sleep. She's growing up so quickly. I can't believe she's nearly seven months and commando crawling."

"What can I say? She's my girl." Jules laughed. Funny how Sadie has Sam spinning, cart-wheeling and whatever else in her little finger.

"I love you," he said. "Very much." He voice cracked as emotion overtook him. It was so unlike him. He used to be mission focused, now he seemed unable to think past missing his wife and his child. Jules sensed his internal conflict, she said, "I love you too... very much. Now get on with it and bring whoever the hell he is home."

It was what he needed to hear, _**Get on with it**__... How does she know just the right words to say?_

Then came the cattle call... "I've gotta go, kiss Sadie for me. And remember I love you."

She laughed, "You don't ever give me a chance to forget. Bye. Be safe."

"Count on it. I love you," then he was off-line.


	3. Fast is Good

_Author's Note: At the time of writing this chapter, Myanmar has not been recently dealt a blow by mother nature, thank goodness. But let's not let this fact get in the way of a good story. For the purpose of authenticity let it be known that in 2008 Canada had sent DART (Disaster Assistance Response Team), a military response unit to Myanmar following a devastating cyclone.  
_

_As a nation, Canada has a long and proud history of offering assistance to countries afflicted by disasters, famine, drought and even ethnic cleansing.  
_

**Fast is Good**

The four operatives, secretly and covertly dubbed by Canada Forces' Intelligence Branch as the Fantastic 4.2 or F4.2 were escorted to a couple of blacked out SVUs. Sam sat on the front passenger seat; his co-passengers, the women sat in the back. Captain Lin rode with Aguila and Thunderhead in the other. Everyone looked out the window, each lost to their own thoughts. Apart from the _**who** _they were tasked to rescue and _**where** _he was being held as far as could be ascertained, there was nothing much to go on. The operation has not been discussed; this would be done on the way to Sumatra to save time.

The vehicles sped off towards Canadian Forces Base Trenton, located 2.3 nautical miles (4.3 km; 2.6 mi) northeast of Trenton, Ontario. It's operated as an air force base by the Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF) and is the hub for air transport operations in Canada and abroad. Classified as an airport of entry, it is staffed by the Canada Border Services Agency. The use of the airport for civilian aircraft is permitted for emergencies or MEDEVACs only.

The distance between Toronto City and RCAF Trenton is 169.3 km give or take a few, a reasonable travel time is around one hour and 30 minutes and two hours depending on traffic and driving pace. Their drivers expertly handled and maneuvered the vehicles well; defensively weaving between cars at warp speed. They arrived at their destination in just over an hour.

There was no unnecessary who-hah. The boom gates lifted as soon as the SVUs came to within six feet of the sentry. The cars screeched to a halt inside a hanger closest to the tarmac. Waiting for them on the runway was an Airbus CC-150 Polaris, converted for use as the primary long distance transport aircraft for the Royal Canadian Air Force. Canada has five of this thing; four were converted to _Combi_-Freighter standard with a reinforced floor and side opening cargo door. The fifth modified as a VIP transport aircraft for government executive transport, unfortunately for them this wasn't for them to travel on. Had it been so,then they could claim bragging rights. It being the plane that ferried the Queen of England all around Canada on her last State visit. More recently, Prince William, and his wife the Duchess of Cambridge were its passengers.

Capt Lin gave them the first bit of trivial information, "We're hitching a ride with these guys," referring to the party of 120 peacekeepers, disaster relief specialists, engineers, communication experts and medics belonging to Dart (Disaster Assistance Response Team) en-route to Myanmar. The Disaster Assistance Response Team — made up of about 200 Canadian Forces personnel — is designed to quickly fly into disaster areas around the world. The primary goal is to provide emergency services, such as drinking water and medical treatment, until long-term aid arrives. DART will only go into areas where it would not face military resistance and at the invitation of the country involved or by the United Nations. Missions last no longer than 40 days.

While waiting for the Force to complete loading emergency supplies and other cargoes, F4.2 took time to check the gear packed for them by the Intelligence branch. Interestingly, each of them were supplied with auto-injectors, used in the military to protect personnel from chemical warfare agents. In the U.S. military, atropine and 2-PAM-Cl (pralidoxime chloride) are used for first aid ("buddy aid" or "self aid") against nerve agents. The type supplied to them was the ATNAA (Antidote Treatment Nerve Agent Auto-Injector), which has both drugs in one syringe, allowing for a simple administration procedure. Jab and it's done!

However, not to be mistaken for this life-saving device was another auto-injector; it contained a paralysing drug to be administered to enemies of the state; for safety, it's housed in a different design. Likewise, jab and it's done!

Each received three pairs of shoes, gortex combats boots, running shoes and casual leather; in Cindy's case a pair of sexy four-inch stilleto, so named after a knife or dagger with a long slender blade and needle-like point, primarily intended as a stabbing weapon. Nick looked at the pair in Cindy's hand. He wise-cracked, "You gotta get a special permit to wear them or risk a charge of wearing a deadly weapon." Miss Lau rewarded him with a smirk.

The wardrobe was nothing to brag about, no one was going to appear on GQ on the basis of the clothes supplied to them. Aguila put up a blue and green checkered shirt for everyone to see, "Fuck buddy, whoever picked this might have been colour blind or having an episode at the time."

"The one you're wearing now is not much better than that," said Brit Nick, adding, "The geeks were just aiming for consistency." Aguila responded by throwing the offensive article at him. "Here... add it to your collection. You can't even donate it to Salvation Army without offending."

Capt Lin and Lt Jones were slightly embarrassed, Sam came to their rescue, "Don't mind them... dress them in Armani and they'd still look like hobos. I've seen better dressed homeless guys than these two."

Cindy, on the other hand, was more appreciative; needing to change out of her batik uniform she chose a white short-sleeve, button up shirt and a pair of walking shorts and headed to the ladies. When she came out she had her hair down to her waist which was a surprise to them. Since Singapore Girls with long hair are required by the Airline to coil it into buns or French twists, none of them were the wiser about how beautifully long were her tresses.

She neatly folded her uniform, packed it away and bagged her shoes. In its place, she selected a greyish coloured military socks and paired it with the gortex combat boots. They all fell silent as they watched her do the very simple act of putting on a pair of shoes. Sam though watched for an entirely different reason from Coyle, Ruiz and Lin. He watched wondering what Jules was doing now. The combat boots reminding him of her. Then, Cindy leaned forward to let her hair cascade lusciously over, gathered the hair strands in her hand, tied them with a red scrunchy. When she looked up, she eyed all of them and wondered what the hell happened.

They all got three pairs of pants each: blue denim, khaki coloured cargo pants and black trousers. "What this, mate?" Aguila asked Capt Lin, "Are we to be in uniform?"

Sam shook his head, "What's the bet that the guy who shop for us had a Master's Degree in Quantum Physics?"

"Fuck me," said Thunderhead, "I once got roped in to be an instructor at a recruits training for M15 and M16. These kids right... they had double, triple majors at University, speaks five languages, could possibly conjugate in ancient Greek but blimey, they didn't know the barrel of the gun from the butt. They're so clueless I was scared to let them out of the class room." Capt Lin visibly squirmed. A dead give-away if there was one. F4.2 laughed their heads off.

When the laughter died down, Lin told them, once in-country, "You will be supplied with a name and an address of an embassy contact. If you need weapons, he'll supply you with what you need." At this point, they were advised that the plane was ready to roll. They stood and strode out of the building as one. Walking abreast, their back pack slung over one shoulder, stride for stride they looked every inch ready for whatever may be thrown their way.

Once on board, they quickly figured that the plane was reconfigured to accommodate their needs for secrecy. They were seated towards the front, with the next seven rows left vacant. DART personnel sat cramped like sardines in the tail-end section of the plane with their cargoes, resenting the obvious favoured status of their hitch-hikers. They weren't to know that F4.2 were not VIPs in the usual sense.

The front of the plane had seats that swiveled so seating arrangements could be varied, and this means they could do face-to-face huddles when required. For now they gave each other a lot of personal space. As soon as the plane reached cruising altitude, Capt Lin distributed the folder containing their legends. "Memorise it," he said. "You have 12 hours. Time starts now."

While F4.2 buried their heads into their character study, Jones and Lin promptly fell asleep without a care in the world. Aguila was tempted to glue their eyelids shut. But now wasn't the time to muck around, twelve hours to commit to memory everything one needed to know of their cover identity. Most seasoned agents got a week or two to do this, but **_fast is good_**.

_Time is of the essence, they have to hit the ground running._ But running wouldn't be all they'd be doing. Far from it. Far, far from it.


	4. Rockin' and Rollin' and Refuelin'

_Author's Note: Those familiar with my writing style know I like fun moments, this is one such chapter. The spice of life, a seasoning of lightness. After this chapter though you all have to hang on for dear life. It would be top speed going forward. Enjoy!_

**Rockin' and Rollin' and Refuelin'**

Major Brian Bright, otherwise known as BB, welcomed his passengers on board his plane thirty minutes into the flight. The man with the highly unimaginative aviator call sign was confident, bordering on cocky with good reason: he was one of the very few. Canadian air force pilots are one of the best trained in the world of military aviation. By the time he acquired his wings, BB would have gone through Primary Flying Training (PFT) and that was just to introduce him to military flying and procedures. PFT included aeromedical training, intended to acquaint him with the effects of high 'G' forces and high altitudes on the body, and to instruct him on the correct operation of the oxygen supply system and the ejection seat found in the Harvard II aircraft. Then there's the Basic Land Survival Course, followed by the Basic Sea Survival Course that included parachute landing techniques, water entry and sea survival skills.

After successful completion of these, he had to undergo Basic Flying Training at Canadian Forces Base Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. This course, approximately eight months in duration, consisted of classroom, simulator and in-flight instruction on flying-related subjects and leadership development. Near the end of his BFT course, he was selected to fly a Fast Jet based on his flying and academic performances and his officer development evaluation. Then BB has to keep honing his skills at Advanced Flying Training, so yes, the Major was cocky but also a fun guy to fly with.

Flying "Air BB" wasn't boring. His voice boomed over the public address system as he welcomed his passengers and advised them of cruising speed, present altitude and estimated time of arrival for refueling at the Incirlik Air Base, a United States Air Force installation, located 8km (5.0 mi) east of Adana, Turkey and 56 kilometers (35 miles) inland from the Mediterranean Sea. Sounding more like a disc jockey in love with his own voice, he was nevertheless a likeable maverick character. After his speech, he played _Danger Zone by Kenny Loggins._ The 'Top Gun' sound track reverberated inside the aircraft to the unbridled delight of his passengers and crew. The thumping, exhilarating guitar riffs got everyone going. Up front F4.2 got into it by playing air guitars.

_Revvin' up__your engine_

_Listen to her howlin' roar_

_Metal under tension_

_Beggin' you to touch and go_

_Highway to the Danger Zone_

_Ride into the Danger Zone_

_Headin' into twilight_

_Spreadin' out her wings tonight_

_She got you jumpin' off the track_

_And shovin' into overdrive_

Capt Lin and Lt Jones woke up bewildered at the sight of Fantastic 4.2 rockin' and rollin' like as if they were at a high school prom night. The two exchanged glances and thought perhaps they had made their first mistake. The surreptitious glances didn't escaped the three stooges' notice. Sam commented, "When the lads" he said, then he glanced at Cindy, "and lady are relaxed about a mission, you can be sure everything's under control. Relax."

There was just enough pause in the music to finish what he was saying before _Mighty Wings by Cheap Trick, _another 'Top Gun' soundtrack, ripped through the plane. Then came the chorus and the lyrics sounded like a rolling thunder as everyone joined in the singing.

_Till I make you take me_  
_On your mighty wings_  
_Make you take me_  
_On your mighty wings across the sky_  
_Take me on your mighty wings_  
_Take me on your mighty wings tonight_

This was followed by an almighty booing when BB announced, "That's all folks."

The rest of the trip was uneventful. But F4.2 reinvigorated and refueled, battened down and refocused on their character study. The distance between Toronto and Adana, Turkey was close to the maximum the CC-150 Polaris could fly non-stop. BB flew the plane at the transonic speed of 1000 kph. They crossed the Atlantic Ocean to Adana Turkey which was over 8,200 km from Toronto in eight hours and 30 minutes Lin informed them that the refueling stop would be four hours, "To allow DART personnel to stretch their legs and get something in them." F4.2 decided _in situ_ was best for them, tuning out all other distractions. Jones arranged to get food taken on-board for them.

While the others finish their meal, Sam fired up his encrypted phone, moved a few rows down to be out of hearing range and hoped Jules would be able to speak with him. She answered on first ring, "Hey stranger, how are you?"

He sighed. "I miss you," he said. "And Sadie."

"I miss you, too," she paused. "Are they looking after you?"

He chuckled, "Depends what you mean by 'looking after us'? Food doesn't look too bad though... slightly better than the cardboard I used to eat in the service of my country." Jules laughed with him. "Serves you right for being such a glutton for punishment. Every time they call, you answer. You ought to know better. Next time say 'Wrong number.'"

On a more serious note she said Sadie hasn't been too happy, "She's having her first teething issue."

"She's teething?" he said flabbergasted. "Couldn't she have waited til I got home!"

Jules laughed to him, "Like she could schedule it. Don't worry there are more teeth to come. The ones after this, I'll make sure you're on Daddy duty. Then you'll want to be away on a 'hot call.'"

"No way," he insisted. Mrs Braddock who knew better just said, "We'll see." They chatted some more and then hanged up only when DARTs started to trickle back in.

Come time for take-off, BB welcomed his passengers a second time with a simple, "Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat belt." The handsome plane taxied along the runaway, as it lifted off the ground, _Jerry Lee Lewis' Great Balls of Fire_ blasted through the PA system. It pumped everyone with fresh enthusiasm, when the song ended, their disc jockey announced in a rather flamboyant way, "Myanmar here we come!" DART roared from the back of the plane, BB responded with, "For all you crazy bastard, here's your song." and he played _Guns N' Roses' Welcome to the Jungle; _pandemonium reigned on his plane.

From Adana Turkey to Yangoon, Myanmar was another 6,500 plus km, another close to seven hours flying time. Brain fried, F4.2 tuned out after the heart thumping rendition of _Welcome to the Jungle_. They've done all they could to prepare in the time they were afforded. Now, it was time to rest; it's one skill SF guys possess and to a large extent, spooks. It didn't matter how nerve wracking a mission was, they could tune out and sleep when they could. They reclined their seats and flew away with the fairies.

Now Capt Lin and LT Jones were wide awake, seriously worried. They received fresh intelligence from Indonesia as they refueled in Turkey that Prof Singh may have already been moved. The source, however, wasn't rated as highly credible but he also didn't have any reason to lie to their people on the ground. If it was true then the stake has upped significantly. They would continue to monitor the development til two hours to landing, then it would time to talk shop; they would convene an operational meeting.

Once they arrived at Myanmar, F4.2 would have to travel to Sumatra another 3,200 km on their own. Lt Jones was reminded of the reality TV show, _Amazing Race_, where contestants travel the world finding their own way by all means necessary. She was exhausted just thinking how the group would managed it on very little logistical support. It was necessary to leave them to their own devices, their cover identities were that of volunteers for a Non-governmental organization called 'Help for Orphans'. Myanmar was the ideal first stop for them to create a credible legend. For now, the best she could do was help them with their plan their travel pathways; but once they step out of the plane, they were on their own.

With nothing much to do, Jones looked out the window and fretted. She really, really hoped Prof Singh hasn't been moved and not for a while yet. It just didn't bare thinking that they'd have to give chase all the way to Pakistan where SIGINT (Signals Intelligence) through satellite and electronic eaves-dropping indicated the insurgents were planning to move the nuclear physicist. A couple of hours later, Capt Lin discreetly advised her that the initial tip has been discredited. It was still game on!

"For at least 24 hours. They're waiting for a cargo."

"What cargo?"

"That's the million dollar question," he said. They left it at that. Speculating wouldn't help; all it ever did was muddy the water. It was already very murky as it was.

Two hours before landing Lt Jones roused F4.2 awake.

The first order of business was to make them sterile. They were each given an envelope where they had to deposit all personal items. Driver's license, photos, credit cards. The lot. As he took out Jules and Sadie's picture, Sam kissed it. He knew he wouldn't be able to live it down, but to his surprised no one said anything. Although Aguila asked to see the picture which he proudly passed on to the American. Big mistake!

"Fuck me. You need to get your head examined," he said, "You left this beauty for a hare-brained mission. There's something wrong with you." Then he said, cheekily, "Buddy, if you die on this mission, I'll marry your widow and get half your pension." Sam mocked punched Aguila in the gut and said, "She's too classy to want to have anything to do with you."

Nick made a grab for the picture, whistled and said, "The baby yours?" He looked a Sadie, and then Sam. "Nah, someone as ugly as you couldn't possibly produce an offspring like that."

Cindy came to Sam's defense, "Hey, leave the poor bloke alone. No need to aggravate his mental condition."

Lin and Jones groaned and tried to bring everything back to order. Jones interrupted the banter and said, "Now, here are your new identity cards." They were supplied everything and all were genuine, including the credit cards.

They all wanted to know, "What's the credit limit?"

"CAN$10,000 each... not to be spent willy nilly," warned Capt Lin.

"Define willy nilly," asked Aguila. Lin and Jones replied in the same vein, "Non life threatening."

The smart-aleck that was Sam said, "We're going on a mission... everything's life threatening, including being bitten by a mosquito."

They were interrupted again when BB announced that they were touching down soon, "Fasten your seat belt" as the plane descended, _Thunderstruck by AC/DC_ blared out. Needless to say, the plane rocked and it wasn't the wind to blame. A hundred and thirty five voices, passengers and air crew together, belted out "Thunder," to AC/DC's guitar riff.

The music ended just as they screeched to a halt. Everyone clapped their pilot, BB took a bow in his cockpit!


	5. RGN to KUL to MES: All in a Day

_Author's Note: Several Asian airlines have had to enroll their flight attendants in martial arts classes. Definitely not limited to a Hong Kong airliner._

**RGN to KUL to MES: All in a Day's Work**

As DART busied unloading their life-saving cargoes, F4.2 and their escorts got down to brass tacks. Huddled around in the front section of the plane, Capt Lin handed out their passports in their new identity, "Embedded within your passport is a microchip, a GPS locator so please don't lose it. It'll help us track you down in case..." The chip Lin was referring to was the size of a rice grain; not the smallest RFID (Radio Frequency IDentification) chip developed by any means. The world's smallest measures just 0.05 x 0.05 millimeters, so tiny it looks like a fleck of dirt; developed by a Japanese firm Hitachi, it has a 128-bit ROM for storing a unique 38 digit number, like its predecessor.

They flipped through it. The passport looked authentic right down to the tatty, stained and aged appearance. Where the geeks found five year old photos of them heaven only knew. The handiwork was impressive. There were stamped visas from different countries, and entry and exit stamps from various places, so apparently they were frequent flyers. The stamp visa entry to Myanmar was dated a month ago which, Lt Jones remarked maybe a bit of a problem for Sam Braddock who was pale as a new born baby's ass; whereas Aguila and Thunderhead looked rugged and brown as withered leather, they had just completed missions in southwest Asia . Cindy Lau skin tone was tanned, as always.

"No problemo buddy," replied Aguila, "We'll just say, if anyone cares to ask, he was hospitalised for a month."

"What disease could he possibly have had to stay in hospital for a month?" asked Lt Jones.

Cindy answered, "Insanity. Didn't we agree he was insane to be coming along for this mission?"

Nick said, "Fits the bill if you ask me." He turned to face Sam, "Mate, just do this," he looked at the ceiling, his mouth slightly drooped to one side, "and you'll look the part."

With a hint of exasperation, Capt Lin asked, "Don't you guys ever take anything seriously?"

"You ain't seen nothin' yet buddy," replied Aguila.

Cindy got up from her seat and teasingly put an arm around Lin, "You should leave the office more and hang around these guys more often. Too much brainy stuff's not good for you."

The captain shook his head, a straight A student from nursery to university and a graduate intake with the Intelligence Branch, the Korean Canadian had no appreciation of the irreverent personalities of F4.2. He came from a culture of respect, respect and more respect. It made adjustment to military life easy, it was just an extension of his home life. The Intelligence Officer knew Nick Coyle, the only one still in active service, didn't salute officers; it's a long-held UKSF tradition. Anyone who had the stamina, gumption, skills, bravery to pass Special Forces selection in his view didn't need to salute, but to be so irreverent? He shook his head. _Geeks are funny, too. Just not like_ _**that**__, _he thought.

Lt Jones did her level best to drew everyone back to the drawing board. "Anyway, here's the fastest way to get you guys to Medan." She handed them print outs of ticket. How she managed that on-board CC-150 Polaris was anyone's guess. "While you were sleeping I searched online for the quickest way to get you there. You'll fly Malaysia Air, direct to KUL, flying time close to three hours. There's a six hours wait at KL, suggest you book a hotel room close to the airport, then AirAsia for a skip and a hop to MES. Questions?"

Nick's face crunched, "I don't do four-some."

"Idiot!" said Miss Lau as she rolled her eyes. In his defense, Nick said, "Well, they said not to spend willy nilly. We might have expected to book one room each but then... hey... be court martialed for it later."

"Fucking stupid, it's not the British government footing the bill, not your tight ass ruperts..." said Aguila, "Canada wouldn't be so tight ass, wouldn't you say, Blondie." Sam felt his chest tighten a little, _Blondie _was returning with a vengeance in everyone's lexicon. He wanted to scream, Blondie was in the past. But the unpalatable truth was he was Blondie and would remain so for life. Once SF, always SF. _Suck and bear it!_

"Are you kidding me?" the Blonde one replied, "They're so tight in Ottawa they're constipated."

"I thought for a second there you were gonna say tighter than a virgin ass," said Lt Jones. It was funnier coming from her, she was starting to loosen up a little.

"Ok, are we ready?" barked Capt Lin, he clapped to get them back on topic.

"Anything you're forgetting to tell us?" asked Sam.

The two intelligence officers looked at each other. Lin answered, "We have 24 hours at best before they sail to the Indian Ocean. We have reasons to believe they're waiting on a cargo and then all bets are off. The yacht is within Indonesian territorial waters, registered owner is one of the richest Indonesian, an oil baron. No one has seen the old man for over two weeks. We're trying to figure out if he has done an Osama Bin Laden Mark II or if he was an unwilling participant in this abduction. We are currently negotiating with the Indo Government to seize the yacht but they're unwilling to cooperate... can't fault them, intelligence is **not** proof of culpability. It's up to us to deliver the proof without causing an international incident."

Lt Jones added, "This is clandestine all the way. Snatch and grab."

"Easier said than done," remarked Cindy.

"That's why you guys are here. You guys have proven in the past you can pull mission impossible."

"Let's not waste anymore time then," said Sam. They pocketed their passports, tickets and wallet in a pouch that hanged around their neck and concealed it inside their shirt; hefted their backpack and proceeded to exit the plane. F4.2 was ready, serious demeanour and all.

Yangon (Rangoon) International Airport is located 12 miles (19 km) to the north of the capital. The military portion of the airport, where the CC-150 Polaris landed an hour ago, is officially designated No. 502 Air Base, Mingaladon AFB. It is currently home to the Transport Squadron, a Liaison Squadron and a detachment from a Fighter Squadron. An ex-RAF base, it is in current dual military-civilian use.

A beaten up 1988 Toyota Corolla drove up to meet them on the tarmac, Aguila cheekily remarked, "I think I'd rather walk."

"Hey, no... this car was featured on 'Top Gear'," said Nick, "We oughtta experience it for ourselves." Like overgrown children they scrambled in; at the sight of them doing so, Capt Lin thought that _certainly SF guys are just kids in big boots. _The driver was delighted at the display of unrestrained enthusiasm, except the car's engine wouldn't engage. The driver was embarrassed, culturally aware of his loss of face, Cindy tapped him on the shoulder and said, "It's ok, it's close." OK being a word universally understood.

"Told you we should walk," said Aguila. They got out, shouldered the backpacks and walked briskly and purposefully towards the civilian part of the Airport.

The newly-built Airport was opened only in 2007. They found it conveniently appealing enough. Checked in, they searched for a place to eat. One SF skill they kept honed, s_tuff your gob when you can, you don't know when you'll have your next meal_. There wasn't any choice which made life simple; there is only one café in the international departures area located on the second floor. To their utter delight, it serves local and some foreign dishes, as well as coffee, tea and soft drinks. It offered comfortable sofa seating interspersed with leafy green plants for a relaxing environment. At any rate, they weren't there for the atmosphere; so long as food was good, the world was right. They ate until it was criminally insane, thank God their plane was called for boarding. The café owner was none too pleased that they were finally going.

Walking to the gate, Sam remarked to Cindy, "If I don't see another plane in my life, I'd be a very happy man." She said smiling, "Imagine what I feel."

The MAS cabin crew was young , beautiful and hospitable and was voted the best by Skytrax in 2011. The female's uniform, also called Sarong Kebaya, was often mistaken for the Singapore Airlines' flight attendant's. Seated next to each other, Nick teased Cindy, "If you put on your uniform, you can serve me some refreshments." He received a sharp, unexpected elbow on his chest, causing him to gasp for air, coughing exaggeratedly, a MAS flight attendant came over to asked if there was anything she could do. Cindy replied, "Nothing, really, he was just being an ass."

The flight attendant smiled and said, "Let me know if he gives you any more trouble, Miss. I'm trained in Wing Chun." Cindy laughed, looked at Nick and said, "Do you want a serving and a half?"

Nick smiled back and said rather unexpectedly which threw her off balance, "In a bigger, wider space, I'd happily Wing Chun with you. But I'd really prefer wrestling." _Did he just made an oblique pass at me? _Cindy's brow knitted, Nick held up two hands and said, "Just sayin.'"

The two hour flight was uneventful, they snoozed away until it was time to disembarked. Cramped, and cooped up in a tin can, the group walked to Sama-Sama Hotel, an easy kilometre away. On the walk over, Cindy hooked her arm around Nick's, "What's up with that?" whispered Aguila to Sam.

The blonde smirked, "Did you not read our full cover story?"

Aguila smiled sheepishly, "Read mine," he said.

Sam replied, "You're one half cooked goose. In any case, just so you know, those two are supposed to be married. Do you even know my name?"

"I'll just call you Blondie, buddy. Fuck me, I have so many names in my head swirling around I don't know anymore who was which." Fair point.

"And what would you call Nick?"

"Ass face," he said irreverently. Sam laughed. The man Aquila just called "ass face" was anything but. He was a looker in the vein of a much taller Mark Wahlberg. Masculine in every sense. There was nothing boyish about his features. And the dark skin enhanced the masculine factor.

"Cindy... well... I'll just call her, 'Woman.'"

"Yeah right, half cooked goose... let's just see how that sits," said Sam. "Anyway, for the record, I'm Sal. Nick is Mick and Cindy is Mindy. Easy peasy. And, you're John."

When they arrived at the hotel, Cindy booked them three rooms. A honeymoon suite for herself and Nick, luxury single rooms for Sam and Aguila. On the way up to their suite, Cindy whispered to Nick, "You're on the couch." He groaned, "I have a bad back."

"Bad back, you're ass."

"Hey mind the language, it is unbecoming for a beautiful woman," said Aguila. Sam quickly moved out of the way as he felt a swish of air when Cindy's elbow came into contact with Aguila's ribs. He blurted out to Nick, "Control you wife".

They reached their floor; arranged to meet at the lobby in four hours. They entered their respective rooms and promptly crashed on the bed. Supine, Sam fired up his encrypted phone, dialed the only number inked in his memory bank, Jules answered sexily, throatily, teasingly, "Hey lover, when will you come to please me?" He was fucked now; _so helped me, God_. Sam let out an agonised groan, feeling his manhood coming to life. Jules laughed her head off. "You men are so predictable."

Sam replied, "Only with you, hon. Only with you." _It's such a beautiful thing to hear him say that,_ thought Mrs Braddock.

"How's Sadie?"

"Out with Spike..." This was followed by silence from Sam's end, "with Winnie of course," she said.

A sigh of relief, "You scared me... that geek wouldn't know what to do with babies."

Jules laughed, "You'd be surprised."

Sam was immediately alert, "Don't tell me you're letting them experiment on my child?" His wife, who was more relaxed about raising Sadie which was a surprise to all ... and them, chuckled. "Will you cool it?"

"I'm cool," he said, "But tell him if anything happens to my child I will kill him."

"Go away and be careful."

"Always, always careful. I love you."

"Love you, too."

Four hours of uninterrupted sleep later, on a firm bed with fluffy pillows, they were ready to roll. They met up at the lobby as agreed, checked out and found a restaurant close by to eat again. Cindy warned them not to eat too much this time, "Food in Medan is to die for, leave space for some hot Indo cuisine."

Dinner done, they checked in to board AirAsia for Medan. The budget airline was cramped. Really cramped. Aguila and Cindy fared well being smaller; Sam was alright, not comfortable, but alright. For Nick it was another thing altogether, the hulking 6'2 footer, most of it legs, was in a really tight squeeze. He charmed one of the flight attendants mid-flight to be allowed to sit in the a seat reserved for them. The flight supervisor agreed, Nick whispered to Cindy, "I'm voting them the best cabin crew." He left in a hurry before another elbow came down on him.

An hour later, they were in Medan. As soon as they cleared border security and standing outside the Airport, their senses heightened. The game was on! Putting mucking around aside, they walked in the direction of the taxi rank. They decided, without a word passing between them that Cindy was Boss. This was her terrain. She spoke the language and she's was sharp as nail.

Yangon to Kuala Lumpur to Medan – all a day's work!


	6. Smart Play

**Smart Play**

In close proximity to the taxi rank was a newsagent, Cindy aka Mindy walked in, the three stooges followed and browsed, one eye peeled on the people around them, scanning faces discreetly. If they see the same face twice, they would know they were being followed. They were also careful to observe body movements and especially careful to watch for guarded and cagey eye movements.

Sam sensed he was now reacting differently to his environment; his situational awareness has increased, doubled in fact. Liked it or not, he has shed off Sam and Blondie, the operative, was back in full force. Gone was the playfulness and the carelessness; replaced by cold, steely, calculating sensibility. He slowed his heart-rate down, breathing slower. Likewise, Thunderhead and Aguila. He observed it in the way they walked, as if they were wearing springs in their shoes. Their strides were more determined, the back straighter, and the eyes were more alert.

Cindy checked out the book section and took out two copies of the 'Lonely Planet', a backpacker's favourite reading material. She flipped through the pages, satisfied that these were what she needed, she went to the cash counter to pay for them. They heard her say, "Terima kasih." She translated it for their benefit, knowing they could hear her well enough, "Thank you."

Seeing her business was done, Blondie paid for little kitschy tourist items to take home to Jules and Sadie. He said, "Terima kasih" to the delight of the shop-minder.

On the footpath, as they waited for taxis to become available, Cindy made a show of giving Blondie and Aguila a copy of the book, she shook her head and casually said,"Can't believe you left Myanmar without your copies? Did you think you can along to our honeymoon?" She hooked her arm around Nick's who kissed the top of her head conservatively, very much aware of the cultural issues regarding inappropriate public displays of affection.

"Well, hope we bump into each other again... whenever that might be," she said with a shrug of her slender shoulders. "You know how these things play..." she tilted her head just so and rubbed her earlobe, "...out." They, sharp as nails themselves, got the drift. **_Play it by ear._**

"Here's a cab, hon," said Nick. The honeymooning couple got in the first taxi, Nick careful to play the part of an adoring husband by assisting Cindy into the cab. They waved the couple good-bye. As the taxi peeled away, they flipped through the book, found American dollars inserted in its pages and some local currency, the Rupiah. They easily spotted a dog-eared page. A marked page jumped out at them, circled was the place for them to head to next

Aguila took the second cab; Blondie the third. The same scenes played out at the two locations. On arrival, they proceeded to the reception desk whereupon they were told that a reservation had been made in their name. Both men were handed a package, "This just arrived for you, sir." The receptionist tapped the front of the package, their eyes fell on the wrapper. _An old trick... invisible ink_. Both men playfully, for the benefit of anyone who might be observing, took a lemon prominently displayed on the counter, only their eyes speaking. The front-desk clerk smiled, glad the operative was sharp as tack.

"Thanks," they said smiling. As they prepared to head to their room, the receptionist rubbed their earlobe and said, "Please don't forget to check the trash." There it was again, _**play it by ear**._

Blondie and Aguila resisted furrowing their brows; but both were of the same thought, W_hat the hell was that about? 'Don't forget to check the trash.'_

As soon as they got inside their respective rooms, the operatives checked every nooks and crannies just to be sure. Many an agent had suffered serious consequences by assuming things were ok. Special Forces mantra: Assumption is the mother of all fuck ups.

They settled in, which simply meant removing everything they needed like their auto-injectors and securing them in their persons and tossing their backpacks inside the wardrobe. They searched for and found a fork in the mini-bar. Poking the lemon's skin deep, they squeeze the juice out onto the wrapper, shortly after an email address along with a password were revealed. They memorised the information and shredded the wrapper in a million its y-bitsy pieces. Instinctively, they both checked the time: 2000Z.

Walking out of their rooms at nearly the same time, they asked the receptionist for the closest internet café. They were informed that computers were available on-site and were shown the room. Aguila and Blondie logged in and found nothing but the usual marketing craps in the in box. Reading the messages, nothing made any sense. Then it sort of hit Sam, 'Don't forget to check the trash.' He shook his pretty head, and muttered to himself, "Who would have thought?" He clicked on the trash and the message was clear as day!

Aguila, being a non-computer user, didn't twig to it so quickly. In frustration, he logged out and huffed. On his way out, the receptionist asked in a nonchalant manner, "Sir, did you check the trash for me, was it full?" _Fuck me!_

"Ah, no, I didn't. Sorry, I'll do it now." He hurried back to the computer before someone else could have a turn, logging back in, he checked the trash this time. The message was loud and clear. He logged out again, and on his way out he winked at the receptionist and said, "The trash was empty. It's cool."

As he strode out of the building, Aguila paused by the door, lit a cigarette as he peeled his eyes for faces. A non-smoker, he had no plans to inhale but he found lighting a cigarette was always a good enough reason to pause on footpaths. As he let the smoke drift out the side of his lips, he acknowledged inwardly a new respect for Lin and Jones. The kids were trusted into a diabolical doomsday scenario and were working things out by the seat of their pants. This mission didn't afford them time to prepare. The intelligence came through and the danger loomed large with a very tight time line that didn't offer much of a chance to plan properly but the geeks were equal to the task.

Cindy and Thunderhead had already checked in and were having a somewhat sexy conversation. Upon entering the room, Thunderhead turned on the music, "May I have this dance?' he said seriously. She took it to mean, let's have a very private conversation.

She nodded, her charcoal black hair cascaded down to her waist as she removed the scrunchy that has held them in a pony tail for much of 30 hours. Light glinted and bounced of it, the causality being that Thunderhead felt weak in the knees. He came forward and took her in his arms, she struggled to breathe with him so close. He whispered into her ear rather unromantically, "I'm bothered by something. What exactly am I doing here? And Aguila for that matter?"

The answer caused him to hold him breathe for a second, "Because the targets are the U.S. and the mother country." Cindy felt Thunderhead's shoulders stiffen, "Sorry... I know you're sick of it happening so much in your neck of the woods."

"One never gets used to it," he said matter of fact.

"Do you know where?"

"We think Minneapolis and Birmingham?"

"Minneapolis? Why?"

"It's psychological. It's in your face. It's saying middle class America is no longer safe. And Birmingham for the shock factor. London has had it's fair share of Bombings. Manchester has had one back in 1996 and Birmingham is also the second most populated city in England."

"Why are you involved? No offense meant but Singapore always minded its own business."

"The richest Indonesian oil baron disappeared in Singapore, reason enough for us to get involved. Loss of face and all. And last I check, I'm a subject of the Queen." The music ended. Reluctantly Thunderhead let her go.

"We have to get ready. We're invited to a black tie affair," she said with a smile.

"In what? This?" he asked bemused. She walked to the wardrobe, opened it up to reveal a Hugo Boss ensemble. "Go, James Bond," she said with a wink. "We have an hour to prepare."

"An hour? It'll take me 10 minutes," then it dawned on him, "Oh yeah, women takes a lot of time."

"Not for reason you imagine," she said. She handed him a photograph of a young woman, "Do you know who that is?"

"No, should I?"

"Not really... she's his youngest daughter and I'm going in as her and you're my latest fling."

He looked at the photo and then Cindy, there's enough similarity there but fuck if she'd be able to pull the wool over everyone's eyes, "You're going in as her in a party likely to be attended by aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and associates. Are you insane? And what if she's there, too?"

"She's not. Right now she's in the Caribbean romancing one of your own."

His facial features darkened, "One of my own. Fuck! Why did he get that assignment and I this?!"

Cindy's faced crunched, she moved forward lightly on her toes, "And what's wrong with this assignment?"

He smiled sexily and said, "Nothing but it could be better... do I get to romance you too?"

Cindy made a swing at him but this time he was ready. He caught her wrist and grappled with her, "Easy tiger... time's ticking. You need to be ready in an hour." She exhaled and said, "Ok truce."

"Right", but he was still undecided if he could trust her not to deck him, so he said, "I'll let you go but remember I can't have a black eye, ok? I need to look my handsome best." She laughed out loud, "You asshole."

True to his word, Thunderhead was ready in 10 minutes, he spent the next hour watching television. When Cindy finally appeared before him he could hardly recognise her. She looked different. Her long black hair was highlighted with streaks of blonde colouring. The shape of her eyes and cheeks transformed by expertly applied make-up and was a total knock-out in a formal electric blue wrap around dress, held in place by a ribbon on the front. And that stilleto... it took massive, massive self-control not to drag her to bed. His arousal was explosive!

Her eyes didn't leave his stare, she twisted her hair and piled it up on top, held the bun in place with two chopsticks. "How do I look?"

"Stunning."

She winked and said, "Just so you know... I'm armed and dangerous." He smirked and wondered where in _that_ outfit could she possibly conceal a weapon.

"Shall we?" he asked.

"We shall," she hooked an arm around his and they walked out handsomely together. At the hotel lobby, everyone they passed stared and followed her with their eyes. Thunderhead felt proud to be her escort but couldn't help feel a tad jealous of the men who feasted on her with their eyes.


	7. Armed and Dangerous

_Author's Note: I've put in a great deal of research on this chapter, any mistakes are my own. I'm not a physicist, just someone who reads a lot. Many of them of I don't claim to understand. Thank you for your patience._

_Not for kids... violence alert!_

**Armed and Dangerous**

Behind the scene, Lin and Jones were operating jointly in a safe house in Singapore where communication infrastructure was of the highest standard. Receiving, interpreting and disseminating information as they came in; and, putting in place safety nets as they did so. They remotely kept an eye on the computers at the hotels where Aquila and Blondie were booked. To prevent leakage, they sent the email, then sent it to 'trash' only when they pinged the right URL address; and just to be doubly sure, until they heard from their undercover agents posing as receptionists that both men were logging in. Timing was everything. It's this attention to detail that made Lin and Jones the two most highly regarded intelligence officers.

This assignment fell on their lap a week ago. For years, since he received the Grant, the intelligence Branch has been following Prof Singh's on-going research and development on fusion boosting. His study grant was focused solely on how to boost the power of existing nuclear technologies efficently. The concept of fusion boosting is to add a small amount of fusion fuel to increase the rate, and thus yield, of a fission reaction. It would have many positive uses like multiplying output of nuclear power plants, but it definitely also has some very bad uses in the wrong hands.

Soon after they received news of Singh's abduction, Capt Lin was asked to described fusion boosting in a hastily convened security meeting with members of the Security Council, "Without going too technical," he said, "The potential contribution of fusion boosting can be gained by observing that the complete fusion of one mole of tritium (3 grams) and one mole of deuterium (2 grams) would produce one mole of neutrons (1 gram), which, neglecting escape losses and scattering for the moment, could fission one mole (239 grams) of plutonium directly, producing 4.6 moles of secondary neutrons, which can in turn fission another 4.6 moles of plutonium (1099 g). The fission of this 1338 g of plutonium in the first two generations would release 23 kilotons of TNT equivalent (97 TJ) of energy, and would by itself result in a 29.7% efficiency for a bomb containing 4.5 kg of plutonium (a typical small fission trigger). The energy released by the fusion of the 5 g of fusion fuel itself is only 1.73% of the energy released by the fission of 1.338 kg of plutonium. Larger total yields and higher efficiency are possible, since the chain reaction can continue beyond the second generation after fusion boosting."

Exasperated, the Prime Minister said, "In other words... in plain English."

Lin replied, "It's going to be atrociously bad in the wrong hands. As in potentially multipying the power of a nuke".

The head of DND (Department of National Defence) asked impatiently, "Do we know who's got him?"

"Initial intelligence suggests he was abducted by freelance, non-aligned merceneries to be sold up the chain."

"So it's just about the money with these people?"

"Yes, they know Canada won't negotiate for his release so they're selling him instead."

"And the buyers?"

"We think it's a coalition of extremist groups, mainly from Pakistan and Afghanistan."

"What else do we know?"

"They're waiting for a cargo... at a guess... suitcase bombs! We have a deep cover agent with the group that took Prof Singh but we haven't heard from him in days. We have prepared an exfil plan." Sadly, the same deep cover agent would be found dead on a motel room in Medan five days later, on the very day the rescue plan was to be put in play.

"What are we doing now?"

"We're preparing a rescue plan... based on last intel, Prof Singh is still in a yacht in the Java Sea. We have been tracking it, for all appearances it has been going up and down Java Sea at leisure."

**Present Day - 2030Z:** To Sam's relief, his brief was simple. There wasn't a lot action required from him. Prior to accepting this assignment, he was told he'd be coordinating the rescue operation from land. As he read his instructions, he could scarcely believe that the Officer really meant it. _This should be easy_, he thought. But as the lynch pin of the operation, he would have to be hyper-alert at all times. He couldn't slip up. If he was compromised, or suffer a lapse of concentration, he would take the whole team down with him.

The first order of business was food. It's been four hours since his last meal, that was back in Kuala Lumpur where they held back to make room for some to-die-for Medan cuisine. Using common sense, he picked an eatery where heaps of foreigners eat, that would be a sign food preparation was at least hygienic. And he made sure to only drink bottled water. Aquila took the same precaution. They couldn't risk dysentery, or any stomach upset of any kind.

After dinner, Sam took time to check out the sights, taking photos of the night life like an ordinary tourist. There was nothing to suggest he was there for any reason other than to enjoy the scenery and the atmosphere of Medan.

Aguila was tasked to get close to the yacht in preparation for assault. Intelligence Branch has tagged the yacht and has been watching it using long range satellite imaging, it's now time for HUMINT (human intelligence). It has been moving from port to port along the length and breadth of Java Sea. As of the last 12 hours, it was in close proximity of Port Medan. They hope it would stay there for another 24 hours.

The ex Delta Force made contact with an undercover operative who supplied him with a high speed boat, a favourite toy of the UKSF's Special Boat Squadron (SBS) called simply the VSV (Very Slender Vessel). It's designed to pierce the waves rather than ride over them, giving Commandos greater range and speed and making for a smoother ride. Wave piercing boats can also operate in rougher seas than boats with traditional hulls.

Aguila whistled on sighting the vessel. He was familiar with the sexy boat, he has ridden in them in training with the SBS (the British Royal Navy's Special Forces commandos) so he knew he was in for a treat. Such craft give the SBS long range insertion capability as well as the ability to chase down drug runners. SBS VSVs can be fitted with twin .50 caliber machine guns, as the one he was being supplied with has. VSVs are fitted with sophisticated navigation and communication equipment. The exact composition of the VSV 16 is classified although it is thought to include carbon fibre and kevlar. The angled design of the VSV16 also gives the boats a low radar profile and reduced wake production. This design, combined with radar-absorbent materials and paint, make the boat highly stealthy - perfect for the job at hand.

**2045Z: **Cindy and Thunderhead arrived at the family mansion in a red Ferrari, with 'Annisa Soetanto' at the wheels. The valet hurried over as soon as they stopped at the entrance of a grandiose facade; a couple of burly security guards immediately flanked Cindy but pretty much ignored Thunderhead, the hand bag.

The chief of security met her, bowed slightly, and addressed her as "Mademoiselle Soetanto." Annisa has lived in Paris for much of her life, a fact known to everyone in Indonesian and Singaporean high society. Cindy barely acknowledged the man, playing the part of a spoiled brat with aplomb. She glanced back to where Thunderhead was standing and said, "Darling…" He came forward, placed a hand at her elbow and escorted her in.

They walked in to audible sound of excited gasps, mainly directed at Cindy who in the mind of many guests was hardly dressed. The women were conservatively dressed so Cindy's wrap around free flowing dress, although modest by Western standard, was scandalous in their eyes. The whispers were that she has brought the family name into disrepute. The couple ignored the mixed expressions of disdain and admiration and headed straight for the elders' table.

As part of her preparation, Cindy memorised the names and faces of the extended Soetanto family. She confidently strode over with Nick in tow. Speaking like Annisa shouldn't pose a problem, Cindy being a gifted mimic. Aware of Asian tradition of deferring to the eldest, she greeted the most senior on the table first, "Hello Uncle Sito, how are you?" The old man pursed his lips. By the looks of him, he'd much prefer it if she didn't come near. The snub was clear. Cindy let it wash over her; she greeted everyone in birth order, the male family members first then the female.

Following Uncle Sito's lead, no one... not one, acknowledged her. Cindy, posing as Annisa, simply said. "Fine" with a sexy shrug of her delicate shoulder. She casually inquired, "Where's Daddy?"

The eldest Soetanto daughter, Annisa's oldest sibling, replied, "Do you care where Bapak is or you're after more money?" Cindy turned to Thunderhead, "Mick, this is sister Ika. She thinks she's the boss." Nick smiled at Ika but was met with a deathly cold stare.

She persisted, "Come on Ika, Where's Daddy?" Ika clenched her fist tightly, let out a sigh and said, "He's away somewhere, that's all I know."

They studied the nervous faces around the table for a few seconds until Nick nudged Cindy gently from behind and whispered with urgency, "Trouble, three o'çlock." She made a quarter turn in a model sort of catlike move. Her eyes fell on a Caucasian man in a designer suit, from the looks of him he could be one of the hired muscles. Cindy locked fingers with Thunderhead, and led him to the dance floor. His arm went around her slim waist which caused a murmur to ripple round the ball room. She responded by putting an arm around his neck. His lips close to her ear, he whispered, "Ëx Legionnaire. He's pinged me. We've got to go." Thunderhead was bothered, _What's a French Foreign Legionnaire doing here?_

**2130Z - **Sam meandered through the market streets of Medan proper. When he was sure no one was tailing him, he headed to a designated safe house where he would take charge of coordinating the rescue. This meant being in constant touch with Aguila and Thunderhead and then signalling for Singapore Special Forces to move in on stealth to board the yacht. Timing would be everything. The plan was once they've secured the Professor, Commandos would board the yacht and sail it into Singaporean territorial waters to avoid international conflict between the neighbouring Asian states.

Aguila, with another undercover operative, headed for the yacht. Armed with night vision goggles, and dressed in all-black wetsuit, they recced the yacht from different angles for a few hours until they're satisfied they've got all there was to know. They reported everything they see to Sam in the safe house and to Lin and Jones in Singapore. They would stay on stag till one am, then they would return to shore to join the raiding party. Four am, they plan to attack the yacht.

At the mansion, Cindy whispered back to Nick, "I need to go to the ladies, then we'll go." They disengaged. Cindy went inside the bathroom while Thunderhead waited for her. When she came out he was gone, looking around, she caught sight of his back as he was being taken by two men. She followed at a careful distance. Thunderhead was taken through a door, which she recalled from an architectural plan, would be the basement. It didn't look good for the Brit.

She counted to 10, then followed. The click-clacking of her stilettos echoed down the basement. Whatever they were doing to Nick stopped. She heard one of them hushed the rest of the gang. "Mick," she cooed.

"It's not funny, honey." Nick didn't reply, he couldn't. Suddenly the lights come on and Mr French Foreign Legion spoke up, "I'm afraid Mademoiselle Soetano, this guy may want to harm you."

"Who are you?" she asked as she casually glanced at Nick who was crumpled on the ground. In the 10 seconds she delayed her entrance they had managed to physically assault him. Nick looked up, his face a tortured mess. She looked at the ring leader.

"You can call me John," he said, scrutinising her closely.

"John, what do you mean by he might want to harm me?"

"I'm one of your father's close protection, it's my business to keep his family safe. I just know hé can't be trusted."

She removed the chopsticks from her hair, letting her black tresses fall down. She seductively ran her fingers through them, "Where's my Dad?" she asked. John and the two others with him were mesmerised by the vision of exotic beauty. It was what she counted on, she threw the chopsticks at the two guys flanking Nick; the sharp end hit and penetrated the stomach. Not what she wanted. A stomach wound doesn't incapacitate, not these guys.

Nick was still on the ground, he had to do something or Cindy might be dead. But before he could do anything, she was out of her stilettos and had undone her clothes by simply tugging on the ribbon of her wrap around. Now almost naked, her modesty protected only by a matching pair of barely there Victoria Secret's bra and underwear, she used her dress as a weapon. Made of tough elastene material, she flung it around John and bound him tightly like a mummy by running in a circle. As she did so, she managed to give one of the mercenaries a flying kick to the face, as she propelled herself in the air holding on tight to the end of her clothes.

When the material has ran out of give, she changed direction and ran counter clock-wise, releasing John at speed. He was spun out of the material, the elastene snapping him out. The centrifugal force cause him to fall forward with such force that the only way not to crack his head was to brace himself with his arms, breaking them both on impact. She quickly picked up stilettos, threw it one after another at the other guy, the sharp end finding its mark. Nick finished him off with a tight grip around his throat, squashing the trachea.

Cindy retrieved her chopsticks. Kicked John so he was on his back, she knelt on his chest with her knees. Although she barely tipped 65 kgs in her 5'6 frame, all her weight was on the knee against the Legionnaire's chest. She put the tip of her chop sticks inside both his ears and hissed, "Trust me, it's a nasty way to die. Tell me, where's my Dad?"

He laughed, "Dad my ass! If he's your Dad, the Virgin Mary is my mother." There was no point continuing with the charade, "Where's he?" This time, she depressed the chopsticks further into his ears. Piercing the ear drums. The pain was excruciating. "Don't mess with me, I'll do you slowly."

Nick watched her with growing fear for the Legionnaire, _Wow_, he thought._ I'd sing like a canary if I was him._

"On the count of three... one." John blurted out in agony, his ears bleeding, "in a yacht. in a yacht." She looked at Nick, "Your turn," she said. He took out a couple auto-injectors from his pocket and jabbed the two survivors with them. Cindy stood up, shook her clothes to remove some of the creases and wrap it around her again. She didn't bother retrieving her chopsticks again. She picked up her stiletto but didn't worry about putting them back on.

She inspected Nick's face, "You need to wash the blood off."

They went into one of the 15 bathrooms in the mansion, she fixed him up. It was clear he has fractured his jaw. "This is going to hurt,"she said. He nodded. She used her thumbs to reset his jaw with some success. "You can't join the assault, we have to get you to swap places with Blondie."

He shook his head, his vision spun. "No,' he said with great difficulty. "Wife and kid." She knew what he meant but he not being 100% would compromise all of them. It wasn't the time to argue, she would let the others decide in a Chinese Parliament, the way Special Forces discuss their strategies.

"Let's go," she said. They exited the bathroom, her stilettos in one hand, Nick in her other arm. Her hair tousled and strands of them strayed everywhere. As they walked past the guests, they all assumed the worse of "Annisa". _Poor girl_, she thought. They better warn her not to return to Indonesia after what they've just appeared to have done.


	8. Chinese Parliament

_Author's Note: The Cameron siblings were first introduced in the stories "A Pleasant Surprise" (Billy); "Treasures" (Ben); "Hell Hath No Fury" (Bryce). Billy and Bryce have appeared more or less on a recurring basis._

**Chinese Parliament**

**2220Z: ** Cindy and Thunderhead casually walked to the red Ferrari, aware that at least half a dozen armed men were watching them closely. One, a foreigner, was trying to raise someone via a comm link. Cindy kept an eye on him,_ professional._ His lips were barely moving but his Adam's apple was moving up and down. She resisted the urge to say "Mr French Foreign Legionnaire would not be answering any time soon". Though he looked at them with strong suspicion, she was confident he won't order an assault on them here, _not with so many high profile, uber society witnesses present._

Cindy climbed into the driver's seat, she smiled sweetly at Thunderhead, "Belted?" she asked. He responded by click-clacking his seat belt. _His jaw must feel like hell._ She knew the feeling, she's fractured her jaw a couple of times before; both times she had to be placed on restricted duties. She glanced as him briefly. _The pain would be a pulsating throb with occasional sharp pangs; not good. _

That's just the thing about real professionals in this business. They don't hit like Hollywood stunt men, they hit with intent to disable, incapacitate, maim and kill. The Brit was hit in a way to make sure he had not a chance in hell.

She turned on the ignition of the 458 Spider, powered by Ferrari's 570 CV 4,499 cc V8. This machine is coupled with Ferrari's class-leading dual-clutch F1 paddle-shift transmission which delivers 0 to 100 km/h acceleration in under 3.4 seconds and a maximum speed of 320 km/h. It also boasts class-leading fuel consumption and emissions levels.

She didn't mucked around, she wanted to get away fast especially as she caught a glimpse of the sheen from a shiny all-back SUV park not far from them. The engine was already running. Screeching away at speed, she accelerated to 180km within five seconds of her foot stepping on the pedal. The SUV swung into view with intent to pursue.

Thunderhead gripped his head with his hands, the throbbing was pulsing but there was no way in hell he was going to swallow any painkillers. They affect judgment so he'd just have to think past the pain like a woman could.

The red Ferrari was super fast but also very visible; and, _they might have attached a tracker on it_. "Hand me your blue tooth device?"

Thunderhead felt for it inside his breast pocket. He gave her the minituarised earwig so small it didn't feel like anything in her ear. Instantly, she was in direct contact with Sam, Lin and Jones. "We've been compromised, we're being followed. Nick is hurt. Not sure if they attached a tracker in the car. Need assistance."

Sam heard "Nick is hurt." _That's a game changer_, he thought. "How bad?" he asked but Lin jumped in, "We're following you with satellite imaging. We'll get you out of there, it doesn't matter if they're tracking the car. In fact, that would be good but you need to make distance. Step on it." Cindy handled the car effortlessly, stepping on the gas to give it more power, achieving a mind blowing 250 km. Lin focused on the the video screen, he said calmly, "In 15 seconds, at the rate of your speed, turn right into a garage. Doors are open."

Cindy kept her eyes peeled to the right, seen the garage door. She turned the steering wheel with confidence. The Ferrari's left tires lifted off the ground as she made the turn. Entered cleanly.

Lin's voice was crisp and clear, "Take the Toyota, back seat. Both of you." They strode quickly towards the deceiving Japanese car. On the outside, it looked beaten up, appearing to be on it's last legs but the engine was new and suped-up. "Welcome aboard," greeted a small wiry guy. Small compared to Thunderhead but he was a serving member of one of the best Special Forces in the world: **Special Operations Force** (**SOF**), the Commando Formation of the Singapore Army and a component of the joint Special Operations Task Force. These men trained only with the best of the best.

The false wall in front of them disappeared as they drove off, Cindy turned back to see it reappear. The SUV carrying one foreigner and five Indonesian former militia stopped about 100 feet from where the red Ferrari stopped. _Something doesn't add up_. _Why would a red hot Ferrari park in the middle of nowhere in a barn-looking garage_. The foreigner raised a clenched fist to indicate 'halt.' He followed this up with a thumb pointing back, 'retreat.' But it was too late, as they turned 180 degrees, they found themselves surrounded by black clad SOF, armed with their favourite toy, SAR 21 ("Singapore Assault Rifle - 21st Century"), a bull pup assault rifle designed and manufactured in Singapore.

Resisting arrest would simply be futile and fatal.

Meanwhile, at sea, Aguila and his buddy, another SOF got close enough to the mega yacht without being seen. The Singaporean dived down to attach tiny listening devices, sensitive enough to pick up sound from inside, around the vessel. Before swimming back to the VSV, he waited for Aguila to signal to him that the devices were working. The ex Delta Force gave him the thumb's up. Now they have eyes and ears. Their observation post was rocky as the VSV moved in the water but at least, Aguila thought, they didn't have to bottle or bag their body waste.

**2400Z: ** Cindy and Thunderhead were driven to the safe house where Sam was comfortably holed up. His feet were up on the console desk, hands behind his head, reclined on a swivel chair. In the mood to be cheeky, he ribbed Nick, "How's the thunder goin' in your head?"

Nick attempted to thump his friend's forehead but wasn't quick enough. "Your reflexes aren't as quick as before," said the blonde one. The Brit just shrugged it off, "I'm good to go." Sam and Cindy locked eyes and wordlessly told each other, "he's fucked."

Aguila and his buddy has been listening to all the drama and knew without a doubt Nick would not be joining them in the assault, except Thunderhead who stubbornly think he was still good to go. Hell, he's been shot at, knifed, metal crowed to the head, been there, done that. A broken jaw was nothing except every now and then he has to stop, get a grip before he could function. They watched him eagle-eyed, _not good,_ said Sam internally with a barely noticeable shake of his pretty head.

**0100Z**: Having seen everything they could possibly observed from 100 feet away and with ears in place, Aguila and his buddy headed back to shore. Time to report in.

**0130Z:** An Aussie navy pilot joined in the party. He introduced himself as Banjo Cameron, Sam's eyes widened. "Jeez," he said, "other one." Banjo laughed, "Braddock... good to meet you finally. Heard many a wicked thing 'bout you from Billy."

**0200Z: ** In the safe house, gathered around for a Chinese Parliament were F4.2, RAAF helo pilot Banjo Cameron, and a two hardy twin SOFs, code named, Tim and Tam.

Cindy opened up the briefing, "As far as they could ascertain Prof Singh and Mr Soetanto were being held in the middle deck of the yacht, separately and heavily guarded by two armed men on strict two-hourly rotation. There are, at best guess, 24 armed local men and eight foreigners with special forces skills gone rogue. They're in it for the money, no loyalties or allegiances we know of. At the start, there were 12, one of them, Philips was an undercover agent from Intelligence Branch, found dead in a motel room two days ago now." She paused as she let them take that in. "One apprehended by SOF an hour ago said Phillips may have been killed because the mastermind wanted more for himself. Not willing to split the bounty 12 ways. He reportedly said he can't see any reason why Philips would be killed other than to reduce the number of people sharing the honey pot."

He told his interrogators, "Come to think of it, you may have saved my life. I wasn't part of the original crew, too." That bit of information somewhat helped assuage Jones' sense of guilt for it was she who encouraged Philips to stay on course. But guilt doesn't go away easily. _**If only**_ she didn't. _**If only**_ she ordered him out instead when they had what he knew. She'd always carry the guilt but she'd make sure he didn't die in vain.

"What do we know?" said Cindy rhetorically. "We know it was a crime of opportunity. These men.." she flicked the small remote in her hand. Twelve close up photos came up on a wall screen; three faces were crossed out, Philips, John and the other foreigner.

"... were close personal protection for Mr Soetanto and family. Philips was put in place three months ago to replace someone sacked for medical reasons. As an oil baron, we have interest in keeping Soetanto safe hence Philips' assignment. Around the time Prof Singh and family were holidaying in Bali, these guy's services were terminated. They saw an opportunity to make money when one of them got wind of the physicist's presence in the island. The plan was hatched. One of them..."

Cindy pointed him out with a laser pen, a red X slowly appeared on his still photo"... is in Pakistan at the moment, negotiating for the right price. We think he's the mastermind. Another team is working on apprehending him. Our task is to get Mr Soetanto and Prof Singh out of there, preferably breathing and unharmed. Any questions?"

No one said anything.

Next, Cindy showed a 3-D photo of the mega yacht, appropriately named _Kebahagiaan_, Bahasa Indonesian for happiness. "This mega yacht has been fitted out with every luxury possible! There is a 13 seat cinema, a helipad, and a lower deck equipped with the best escaped vessels available. Two well oiled and maintained tenders, speed boats for a quick getaway. This dry dock is where the tenders are kept, but when the speed boats are on the water, it can be filled with water to create a 12m swimming pool with underwater lighting!"

"Helipad on the top deck. On the third deck the owner's stateroom, we know it is being used as the mercenaries' quarter and briefing room. On the second deck are five guest rooms; these two..." she marked them with an X, "... are where the hostages are being kept."

"Aguila, you have anything to add?"

The Hispanic American ex Delta, "We estimate a crew of 24, plus eight ex SF. That's 6.4 each, not bad," he said.

"Your math is wrong, it's 5.3 each" mumbled Thunderhead. His jaw refusing to cooperate.

Cindy eyed him, "You're not coming mate. You're staying here with Sam." If looks could kill. He eye-balled her and while he was doing so Aguila jabbed him with the auto-injector. They caught him on the way down and laid him on a cot. "That's a good boy," said Aquila as he patted him on the head.

"Guys, 6.4 each is not good odds. You're a man down," said Sam. "The targets are well trained killing machines."

Cindy replied, "Don't even think about it. We need someone here to get everyone connected."

"We can do it from here," said Lin.

Sam's eyes glistened, "I'm in." The Chinese Parliament was over.

Back home, Jules felt a sense of dread. Although Samuel was half a world away she felt connected to him; spiritually and mentally. "Don't do anything stupid, Braddock," she said to herself with clenched fist.

Sadie cried. She pirouetted around to check on her offspring. The seven month old was teething, three teeth in one go, "Girl," she said smiling proudly, "couldn't you do it one at a time like normal." There clearly wasn't anything average or normal about the brown haired crawler. And now that she's teething, she's turned into a vicious ankle biter. "You can give some of that to Daddy when he comes back," she said as she picked up the wee one off the floor for a feed.

Cindy sighed; she knew she had no reason to hold the blonde one back. The briefing continued. "Approaching by air, Alpha One: Tim, Tam and Sam." They all laughed uproariously. The tension was broken. The Special Forces' esprit de corps of humour under intense pressure came to the fore.

"First mission: take out the helicopter. Then assault third deck. It's defacto war room. So I don't have to warn you it could be rigged with explosives. You guys know what to do. Everything you need is in a cache over there," pointing out a table laden with big toys to her right.

"Approaching by VSV, myself and Aguila. We'll disable the tenders and fight our way up." She looked around, "Questions."

There was none, the lady boss said, "Time to get ready ladies."


	9. The Assault

_Author's Note: I'd like to thank Mr Philip Greenspun for answering my helicopter questions. Mr Greenspun is an aviator. He knows his stuff._

**The Assault**

The Team got down to business. From the cache of weaponry, each took what they needed, as much as they felt they needed. Sam started with the basic. He dressed in his black thermal for the early morning raid, he overlaid it with a durable black closed neck T and camouflage pants, water proofed gortex combat boots. On his head, a black beanie, to cover the problematic golden locks. Lastly, he put on a black leather jacket with velcro, a SAS gift to the world of SF. With the velcro, instead of buttons or zip, everything on him was tightly packed. He patted his neck pouch, made sure his passport, encrypted phone and money were all there before he secured them under the black leather jacket.

Next, he put on a nine-piece lightweight ultimate assault webbing set. That done, he filled the various pockets with plenty of munitions for the fourth generation Glock 20, 10 mm. There are other weapons of higher capacity and claims of being best of the best but at the end of the day it's the user, not the weapon, that would determine the outcome. The operator has to know how to his weapon, and he knew a Glock inside out. With this, he picked up a SRU favourite, the Remington 700 long action sniper rifle. After disabling the helicopter, he would take up sniper position on the helipad to pin down the hostiles giving his Team every opportunity for success.

He picked up a night vision goggle, mask, flash bangs, grenade, a 406 MHz distress beacon, and a K-bar knife. That was it, he was done.

He thought to himself, with a higher than five to one odds, their only chance would be surprise. Not all 32 men would be up for sure, at least half of them would be asleep. That would be more than sufficient to even the odds out a little.

The rest of the crew pretty much packed the same military gear with the exception of their preferred weaponry. Tim and Tam favoured the SAR-21 for obvious reason. Cindy favoured the Sig Sauer P226, Aguila selected the A 9x19 mm Walther P99, German semi-automatic pistol, quoting a poem out of context as he caressed the handgun, and said, "A thing of beauty is a joy forever." Sam shook his head and said, "Buddy, you seriously need help." The American smirked and kiss the gun in reply.

Cindy packed a grappling hook propelled by compressed air called Assault Launcher Max (ALM) in case she has to _Lara Croft _their way to the mega yacht. The ALM is cast from 356-T6 Aluminum for its weight to strength ratio. When equipped with high pressure projectile deployment range almost always doubled. The housing is inert to seawater and can be used in land-based operations as well as surface and subsurface maritime environments to throw a line or climbing line or ladder.

**0230Z: ** Royal Australian Navy helicopter pilot Banjo Cameron fired up a five-seat Eurocopter EC-120, a much quieter helicopter due to the fenestron anti-torque system (which replaces the tail rotor, which is very noisy). The helo was privately owned by one of the richest man in Asia, whose identity would remain secret. A military bird wasn't an option for this operation.

The Eurocopter was painted all black to reduce visibility. Cameron would be flying low to the horizon and at top speed, around 110 knots for the EC-120. At that speed, the helo would appear pretty quickly and those on board would not have a lot of time to think about what to do or even assess what the hell it was all about.

Cameron suggested he could hover at a distance of one kilometre to give Sam the chance to snipe at anyone unfortunate to be on deck. Sam declined. The unsteady platform did not bode well for a sniper. "If I take a shot and I miss, we'd be giving our position away and the chance of a surprise would be wasted." What he said made a lot of sense, the SOFs admired the Canuck for it, someone people wouldn't be able to resist the chance to show off their bravado.

They all gathered around one last time, checked their pricey watches and confirmed they were on the same time to the second. They nodded at each other in acknowledgment, unsmiling. They now wore a mask of serious intent. Cindy eyed Aguila, "Let's roll,"

**0310Z** Since the Eurocopter would be flying at a speed of 110 knots, and the maximum speed of the VSV was 70 knots, the maritime vessel had to have a headstart for a simultaneous air and sea attack to work. Aguila and Cameron conferred with their calculations and agreed on a time gap. Lin and Jones confirmed the target was still sationary, Jones added, "Let's hope it stays that way. Good luck."

Aguila and Cindy took off on the beaten up Japanese car, with the Delta Force on the wheel. The fast boat was stored not far from the safe house far but the driving saved time. They were out of the vehicle even before the engine completely died down. **By 0320Z**, they were skimming over the water heading for the yacht moored just inside Indonesian territorial waters.

**0340Z** The helo lifted off the ground with Tim, Tam and Sam on board.

**0400Z** As planned, the sea-faring warrior and the air-borne assaulters arrived at pretty much the same time. Before the guard on main deck knew what was happening Sam has already landed on his feet. Surprised, he was unable to do anything much but attempt to shout out a warning to his cohorts but Sam was on top of him before he got his second syllable out. The blonde one drew out his K-bar knife, slashed the guard's thigh, severing the femoral artery. He didn't waste any time on the man, he knew the militia would bleed out in minutes. He headed straight for the helipad. The SOF twins, comically given the nicknames Tim and Tam, peeled off to head down to the third deck where the stateroom was located. They haven't gone far when two armed militia came at them. The twins were ready. Armed with lethal bare hands, they smashed open palms into the men's nose, breaking it in the process. A chokehold did the rest.

Cindy and Aguila breached the lowest deck, the vessel entered noiselessly. Four men were sleeping in various state of drunkenness and nakedness, making it an easy job for the Dynamic Duo. Cindy's silenced Sig Sauer P226 took care of militias, emitting a faint "psst" as she squeezed the trigger eight times. Giving each of them a double tap. Though still loaded, she released the magazine and inserted a fresh one into the Sig.

Aguila took care of the tenders, two speed boats especially designed and manufactured for the Soetanto family by one of Europe's most renown speed boat builders. Lin advised him on comm link how to disable the tenders without having to blow them up.

Meanwhile, Jones was in Sam's ears too, talking him through how to disable the flying machine without having to blow it up. "It's all about the circuitry and the electronics and the computer chips," she said.

Sam hissed, "No lectures, just give me the specifics, I'm in."

To the point, Jones told him what to do, he pocketed the small thingymagiggy, without which the sleek bird won't be going anywhere. That done, he jumped off the helo and positioned himself comfortably. His Remington at a ready he spied a white foreigner with a swagger. He placed him in the centre of his cross hairs, inhaled, held his breath, pulled the trigger. **Bull's eye.**

Sam didn't notice that a man was inside the helo sleeping in the back seat, he was the night watch man. He took time to assess what was happening, and who the warrior was. He peeped out of the window in time to see Sam took a man down. _Fuck._

Another came rushing out from the starboard side, Blondie repeated the same cool, calculated sniping technique; in less than five minutes on board the mega yacht, Sam has bagged his third scalp. The second sniper kill convinced the man inside the helo he had to take out Sam.

A man came out from the port side. Sam changed position to better scope the man, another foreigner. His scope caught a familiar tattoo. _KSK Kommando Spezialkräfte, _German Special Forces gone rogue. _Such a shame,_ thought Sam grimly, _to be the best and to have sold his soul down the river for money. _

The KSK was sharp, he crouched low and immediately determined that the sniper must be high up on the fifth level, the helipad. Himself armed with a telescopic sniper rifle, a Blaser R93 Tactical, fed with 338 lapua magnum bullet, he also drew a deep breath and held it. They were now at a stalemate. Sam lowered himself flat in the centre of the helipad. One mistake and his head would get blown off.

Hooking the strap of his rifle across his back, he wriggled downward slowly, not daring to lift his head. His feet went over the edge first, then he slid down on his belly, his fingers gripped the ledge. He landed softly on his feet as he let go. The guy inside the helo signalled the German using a penlight.

Below on the third deck, the SOF twins tested the door to the stateroom, it was deadlocked from the inside. Explosive entry could not be avoided. The doors blew inward with such a tremendous force it took two men instantaneously. The almighty boom roused Prof Singh and Mr Soetanto from a restless sleep, they've been hearing unusual noises but until that explosion, they were not sure what was going on. Seconds later, the two men outside their doors entered their sanctuary and manhandled them into submission. "Come, quick," any attempt at resisting were met with brutal physical assault. The men had to decide whether to go up or down, they chose down.

Cindy and Aguila climbed quietly to the second level. Hell has broken loose upstairs. Forget stealth. But luckily for them, most of the men were rushing up to the fourth level, the main deck. Only four were coming down – with the hostages in tow.

Tim and Tam threw a couple more flash bangs for good measure, then wore their masks securely. They fired their weapons at every coughing fit they heard. Special Forces or not, when one needed to cough, one coughed. When the air cleared, three more laid breathless. The bad sort of breathless.

Sam felt movements above him, _fuck_. Sensed the door of the helo open, he reckoned the guy would be on top of him any second; and, another killing machine was under cover of darkness just feet from him. He'd be sandwiched between the two, a pincher attack. _One of them is bound to get me, shit_. He couldn't stay put. Stationary, he'd make himself an easier target. He surveyed the layout of the deck.

Thinking quickly, he concluded that the only way out was up again. He put a mask on, rolled a flash bang grenade where he last saw the Commando. He removed his Remington to get it out of the way, jumped up, caught the edge of the helipad, and heaved himself upward using every ounce of muscle power he had. Once he was back on the helipad, he unholstered his Glock, checked it was chambered and the safety was off.

He laid flat on his back, just waiting... waiting... waiting. Alert. Every senses of his being on fire. His finger poised on the trigger, _any second now. _Below, the two commandos met up and wondered where the hell he went. Only way was up. In another pincher manuever, the two commandos heaved themselves up to either side of Sam.

Blondie fired at the head of Mr Helo as it breached the ledge, it wasn't dead centre but it didn't matter. A shot to the head was a shot to the head. And Mr Helo was dead. But it only took that one second for Mr KSK to get on top of him. Sam kicked the handgun before KSK could properly aim it at him but the rogue commando was very skillful at close quarter combat. In two moves, he had Sam in a deadly head lock. Sam, with all the adrenaline he could muster, propelled them both backwards. Horrifyingly, backwards into the sea, and they fell from 18 metres high, the equivalent of a five story building.

Sam braced himself for the impact that was potentially disabling at best and deadly at worse. As they were falling into sea an image of Jules and Sadie flashed in his mind.

Jules woke up with a start! Her heart palpitating.


	10. Dead Man's Float

_**Author's Note: This chapter dedicate to arlette-sweet-heart**_.

**Dead Man's Float**

Jules forced herself to slow her breathing down. She was filled with an unshakeable sense of foreboding. Intuitively, she felt… knew deep down Sam was in trouble. But that wasn't all that was doing her head in, it was the fact she's a half a world away unable to help.

Barefoot, she went to the kitchen to drink a glass of water, had a sip but instantly felt her stomach churn with anxiety. She tipped the water into her hand and used it to wet her face and neck to remove some of the night sweat.

She heard a faint squeak from Sadie's room; it brought her out of the swirling feeling of dread. Putting the empty glass on the sink; she went to peep into her cot. The wee bub was still asleep. The sound was just her emitting this feisty little cry as she stretched her arms out, trying to wriggle out of her blanket. She quietly came near, covered the little brown haired darling with a blanket, tucking it lightly along the sides.

She chastised herself, "Jules, don't be ridiculous! It's only been 24 hours since you last heard from him." A smile broke on her face as she recalled their conversation. How flirty she was to him and how adoringly sweet he was to her. They talked of mundane stuff, the ordinary things of life; that was all. "_It had better not be where it ends; how it ends. It better not be!"_ She said to herself over and over again. He couldn't tell her much but he promised to be home soon. But that's what's really killing her, she conceded, **the bloody not knowing.**

Sam and Mr KSK were tumbling into the sea. As the will to survive kicked in big-time, Blondie decided that _**whatever f'ing happens**_ he mustn't hit the water first but the German Kommando had the same thought.

Their inertia spun them round with Sam now beneath, falling into the water full-frontal. Sam did his best to spin them around so he was on top again. He mentally counted the number of spins they've taken, _three._ His adrenalin-fueled brain screamed at him: **The last spin would be it! **

The last spin would mean one of them was going to hit the water like concrete.

Sam focused his mental strength. He was in a disadvantage being held in an air choke. In fiction the person being choked flails in silence, and after thirty seconds he is rendered unconscious. In reality, cutting off someone's air supply takes several minutes and he'd be at full strength the whole time; there's nothing like a person's instinctual fight syndrome to get one at full strength.

Still in an air choke hold, Sam managed with his dominant left hand to unsheath his K-bar knife from his thigh. With his right hand, he persevered with the futile attempt to loosen the strong arm pressing the life out of him. His lungs were constricting now, oxygen has become a premium, very little of it now reaching his brain. Determined to stay alive, he stabbed the KSK in the forearm, nicking his left cheek, too, in the process.

He twisted the knife and the arm loosened its hold on him, he jerked free, both of them slamming in the water, he just behind the other guy.

He mentally braced himself. Forced his body, commanded his body to loosen up. He needed to relax his muscles, how the hell he could manage that he didn't know for sure, but he needed his body to relax. He breathe in as much air as he could in that millisecond before impact and tucked his head in as close to his chest as possible, He felt his whole body jolt as it hit the water. His back slamming hard, following Mr KSK into the watery abyss.

They sunk, both of us. In the throes of panic, Mr KSK reached out and grabbed his webbing, Sam struggling to get out of death's claws.

Cindy and Aguila made it to the second level, just had time to stop at the top of the stairs when they heard sounds of anguished cry. Voices of pleading.

Aguila motioned for her to go back down while he remained at the top of the stairs. He crossed the corridor in haste and flattened his skinny ass against a recessed wall housing a massive painting. He let the first group, two thugs and Mr Soetanto, go passed him. Cindy would take care of them below deck. Closely following were two thugs manhandling the professor. He let them go pass and just as they were heading down the steps, he whistled loudly. The escorts looked back and he squeezed the trigger of his beautiful Walther P99.

The professor shook like a leaf, Aguila didn't have time for a proper introduction, he simply dragged him by the elbow, "Don't worry, buddy, I'm with the bloody cavalry."

Below deck, Mr Soetanto was praying loudly in Bahasa Indonesian, calling on Almighty God to rescue him. His eyes firmly shut, he didn't know that his prayers were being answered until Cindy spoke in his language, "Your safe now, come on."

Cindy reported back to the Comm Hub, "We've got the targets."

Lin's firm instruction was "Move, move, move. Secure the targets. Disengage." Cindy and Aguila locked eyes. "Fucking hell, the others are still up there," said Cindy who was team leader for the assault.

"Black Kite (Banjo Cameron's aviator nick name) is air-borne. He's gonna pick up the others. Go, go, go."

Tim and Tam heard the instruction and proceeded to retreat back to the top deck to await Black Kite, but with at least 10 hostiles in pursuit. "Fuucking nightmare," screamed Tim. "ETA, how long?" SF warriors do flap, it's just that they're able to control their fear so instead of running round like headless chooks, they fight like ladies fight.

Tam was behind his twin, running back to back, firing at targets.

Jones said, her voice breaking, desperately trying to contain her rising panic, "ETA 10 minutes." The twins simultaneously swore, "Fuck me." Tim adding, "Might as well be tomorrow."

"Helipad!" said Tim.

"Go for it," said Tam, practically attached to his twin's hip.

They reached the flying bird's platform, laid flat on their belly, it reminded Tim, "Where the bloody hell is Blondie?"

"Good question," replied the other. "Hub, you guys heard from Braddock?" Tam asked in the midst of battle as they exchanged gunshots with hostiles.

Jones and Lin. Cindy and Aguila. Tim and Tam. They all locked eyes with each other and thought the worse, "Fuck. What the hell!"

"Don't worry, we'll find him. If he has his passport with him, we'll find him," said Lin. What he didn't say was, _Just as long as he's not under water_."

Suddenly, they heard an almighty, nerve-shattering holler, "Incoming, RPG." The twins barely had time to roll out from the platform onto the main deck when the whole helipad was blown to smithereens. From the VSV, four stunned souls watched the ruined structure billow fire and smoke. "Tim! Tam! Come on, guys! Answer me!" Cindy stood on the stern of the boat, barely holding on.

Then they heard coughing, "Good, we're good! Just get the whirly bird here will ya!"

The twins volleyed back with grenades. Obliterating much of the yacht's top structure.

The Eurocopter EC-120 was on top of them before they knew it. It could hover for less than 10 seconds, and no longer. Helos are very vulnerable to gunshots, even by small handguns. Not to mention another RPG, _that_ would be a definite game-ender.

Black Kite had one hand on the throttle, with the other hand he was firing a Belgian made light machine gun called Minimi through the side window. He squeezed the belt-fed machine gun, spitting an insane 800 rounds per minute. He didn't care if he hit anyone; all he cared about was to pin down the hostiles long enough to get his mates out of hell.

Tim saw it first. He leaped off his feet to grab hold of the landing skid just in time. He sat securely on the metal frame. Tam ran after the helo just as Black Kite lifted off, just managing to grab hold of his brother's leg.

Shots after shots rained on them, the Black Kite expertly swerving. Several bullets hit the body of the privately-owned Eurocopter, peppering it with holes. The windshield spider webbing as it also took hits. Luckily none hit the rotor or the engine. Tam's arms were barely holding on his brother's legs, lactic acid causing them to spasm with the effort. Tim screamed for his brother to hold on, the air taking the sound away before it reach his twin's ears. At a safer distance, Black Kite lowered the helo but maintained top speed, Tim just managing to heave Tam onto the metal skid before he was dragged in the water.

Lin hoped against hope that the microchip implanted in the passport would work as he sought help States side for an orbiting satellite above the Pacific region to be shifted into position.

Then a body, in a dead's man float, surfaced on the water.

_Surely I would be found. Surely_.

He was feeling the cold. Even though the average water temperature in this part of the world averages 26 degrees Celsius, prolonged exposure could still lead to hypothermia, which in turn leads to death.

_Surely I would be found. Surely._

He was struggling to keep himself conscious, struggling to keep himself awake. He has had no sleep for more than 24 hours. He was being lulled to slumber as he bobbed up and down in the water in a dead man's float….

_Surely they would find me. Surely._

Sadie screamed, Jules ran to her room to soothe her. "Ëverything's gonna be fine, baby girl." She sang her a haunting song…

_So many nights I sit by my window  
Waiting for someone to sing me his song  
So many dreams I kept deep inside me  
Alone in the dark but now  
You've come along_

_You light up my life_  
_You give me hope_  
_To carry on_  
_You light up my days_  
_and fill my nights with song_

_**Rollin' at sea, adrift on the water  
Could it be finally you're turning for home?**__  
Finally, a chance to say hey,  
I love You  
Never again to be all alone_

_You light up my life_  
_You give me hope_  
_To carry on_  
_You light up my days_  
_and fill my nights with song_

_You light up my life_  
_You give me hope_  
_To carry on_  
_You light up my days_  
_and fill my nights with song_

_It can't be wrong_  
_When it feels so right_  
_'Cause You_  
_You light up my life_

She sang it to Sadie for Sam... she just didn't know how fitting the song was.

She wondered... _And this… this drumming in my heart… how could I stop it? How?_


	11. Clutching on Hope, Finding Solace

_Author's Note: This chapter dedicated to Eulasaid Una and to my precious guests Sara, Samaholic and Ireland for getting behind this story. I wish I could personally private message my appreciation to you. Since I can't, allow me to publicly thank you instead._

_For back story: Baby Braddock's nickname, Snapper (hybrid of sniper and napper), first appeared in the story "The Love Offensive: A Pleasant surprise."_

**Clutching on Hope, Finding Solace**

Black Kite deposited his human cargoes on solid ground after 15 minutes of flying at break neck speed. Adrenalin masked the pain but the instant they landed, Tam collapsed, not just from sheer exhaustion but from bullet wounds he didn't even know he sustained. He was leaking everywhere.

Tim just had time to catch his head before he concussed it, screaming, "Man down, man down!" Cindy and Aguila ran out of the safe house with combat medics hurrying behind them; Military Intelligence pre-arranged for medical staff in the event of, which in this case was highly likely to save Tam's life. The SOF was given first-aid before being rushed with his twin to a helicopter ambulance to be flown directly to Singapore to receive the best possible care.

Cindy thought for a moment, _The mission has been accomplished but at what cost?_ One operative with his jaw wired shut, one peppered with bullets, and there's one still missing in action. Sam has been missing now for over two hours.

**0600Z** The Team Leader reported back to Lin and Jones about Tim's condition and asked about Sam, "Have you pinged his location yet?" The answer wasn't satisfactory, putting it diplomatically, Lin replied, "We're still waiting for the satellite to get into place."

Aguila shook his head angrily, "Not good enough, buddy. Time to think outside the square."

Black Kite sought the air crew and asked for the flying machine to be refueled. He left them to it and strode back to the safe house to give Cindy his unsolicited advice, "Mate, time to do our own search and rescue."

"We have to stay covert," said Cindy, sounding torn between following orders and looking for a missing friend.

"Fuck covert," volleyed back Black Kite. "There was nothing covert with all that racket. RPG, mate! At bloody four in the morning, who are we kidding here? Indonesian Coast Guard has already called for an investigation. If they're better equipped they'd have been there half an hour ago. I'm telling you, mate, they'd be all over that place soon if we don't get off our ass. Then the shits will definitely, really hit the fan!"

Aguila didn't need any convincing, he took the earwig out and said, "Techno problem." The other two did the same. Lin and Jones looked at each other and knew instinctively the trio have gone dark. The Lieutenant asked the Captain, "Do we back them up?"

He took a deep breathe, thought about it for a second and said, "Hell, yeah... technical problem." She smiled and said, "Copy that!"

Jules was distracted with Sadie. Teething was giving the wee one problems, but the besotted Mom thought that considering she has three coming all at once, she was really being good about it. Comforted by her mother's mellow singing voice, Sadie settled down giving Jules time to assess her situation. She wouldn't be any good to Sadie and Sam, not in her current anxious state. She has to call someone for help. It crossed her mind to call her teammates and friends at SRU for support but tell them what? She ran the conversation in her head.

_I suspect Sam is missing? _

_For how long? _

_Twenty six hours_. Even in her head, she sounded hysterical.

_Where did he go? _

_Sorry, I don't know. And even if I know, I can't tell you. _It sounded ridiculous even to her own ears.

She decided she'd call the one person in the world she was certain would understand. Sam's Mom. Her Mom now too. The woman who has taken her into her heart, into her world as if she were her own.

She considered for a moment the time difference between Medan Indonesia and Toronto, _Six am there now._ She wondered again what Sam may be doing at this time of the morning. They lost touched after he left Kuala Lumpur for Medan. _Has the operation started? Is it over? _So many questions but no answers.

She took a deep breath and pressed 2 on her auto dial contact list. Nelly Braddock was hunched over the stove, preparing the evening meal. Jules mentally counted the rings: _one, two, three_... She was still lost in thought when Mom Braddock answered, "Jules, darling..."

"Mom," she said. Realising she hadn't prepared anything to say she made an excuse to put Sadie down on the floor.

"Sure, I'll wait."

She surrounded Sadie with toys, not that the baby was interested in them. The little one was more interested in her wolly slippers. She shook her head and said, "It's disgusting." She offered her a teething ring instead. Boiled, sanitised and it cost her a week's supply of double-double. But the wee one has a strong opinion, expressed in a well-aimed throw, hitting the small of her ankle, "Ouch" she moaned. The baby, nicknamed Snapper by comrades at SRU, was indeed a sniper in the making.

She picked up the cellphone and took a deep breathe, trying to sound cheerful, she said, "Hi, Mom. How are you?"

"I'm really good. I'm cooking casserole for the General," she said. Despite herself, Jules smiled bemused. She could never get used to the title General being also a term of endearment. The notion of calling Sam, 'Constable' would be just the most romance-ending scenario she could possibly think of.

"Wow, would that be beef casserole?" she asked.

Mom replied, "Indeed, beef casserole but you didn't call to find out what I'm cooking for dinner. What's the matter, darling?"

_'Darling.' _Her throat constricted with emotion, Mom Braddock has called her that from the first day; when Sam brought her home to be introduced to his family circle. She couldn't help but feel fuzzy by the affection with which it was said every time.

"Mom, it's Sam, he's away. He's in Asia. I haven't heard from him..." she thought about what to say next, "for awhile. I know it's ridiculous but I'm worried." There was a pause, Jules wondered if she might have started an unnecessary panic, then Mom was back, "I just turned off the stove, the General can bleeping feed himself. I'm coming over. Be there in 15. Darling, hang in there.

"I'm coming," she repeated.

Sam drifted at sea. He tried desperately not to lose consciousness. The lack of sleep was taking its toll. Floating on his back, arms and legs out to his sides, he closed his eyes for a second. Micro sleep took hold of him, he tipped over, and had a sudden urge to breathe. He gasped as he forced his head out of the water.

Preserving what little energy he had left, he took a deep breathe and assumed the dead's man float again. His face underwater, only the back of his head was above water, the rest of him was submerged.

His mind played tricks on him, _Get it over with. Just drown. Easier to drown than to linger about adrift, hypothermic, thirsty, hungry. _To escape the clutches of death, he cut his webbing off him, everything he had to help him was gone. No beacon. No gun. He wondered what he did with the knife. He must have let it go. Drowning was the only option then. _Why bother, it would all end badly anyway? _

But suddenly, he had an image of Sadie crying. He opened his eyes, his Father's heart cried out, though his eyes had no tears, dehydration has taken hold of him, too. _No_, he fought the thoughts of suicide fiercely. _**No.** _He tried to focus. Are there sharks in these waters? _Great. Now, I'm sharks feed. May be not. Too shallow for sharks. _He remembered this body of water was shallow.

The sun was getting very intense and the harbour was busier. His eyes couldn't focus very well and he felt as if his brain was starting to fry. _How does one get a boiled brain in the middle of the fucking sea? _

_I'm thirsty, can't drink sea water?_ He was starting to feel slightly insane.

He could see boats, lots of them. Different shapes and sizes. _Fishermen? Pirates? Enemies? Coast Guard?_

Black Kite lifted off with Cindy and Aguila kitted with high powered binoculars and long range rifles. Using simple mathematics, they made an assumption of where Sam might be in the water, _if _he was in the water and not in the freaking yacht which had just skiddle-daddled towards the open ocean with the remaining crew.

"Why are we assuming he's in the water?" asked Cameron.

"We're not, but the yacht is being tracked as we speak, it's in international water. Unmanned drones are following it now. But no one's searching the water," said Cindy. _Good answer_, he thought.

The medivac helo arrived at the Singapore Military Hospital and was met by one of its best Trauma Surgeon. Dr Seri was there minutes ago, prepped and ready to go. She didn't do niceties, that would come later. Now, right now, the priority was getting the SOF warrior into surgery.

Nelly Braddock arrived at Sam and Jules' apartment with flowers and sweets, "Pick me ups," she said with a half smile. Jules showed her in. The older woman delighted in the antics of her first grand daughter. After a few minutes, they sat down to enjoy a cup of tea. Sipping it delicately, appreciating the taste and aroma of organic oolong tea, Nelly eyed Jules discreetly out of the rim of her mug, "Thanks" she said after she consumed the beverage.

Sensitive to her feelings, Nelly didn't asked any questions. She didn't come for the inquisition. She only came to inspire. To encourage. To uplift. To console. Just as she had done for herself years ago when her husband was away on missions; then years later when it was her son's turn. _Perhaps much, much later_, she mused, she would have to do so, she looked down on the floor... _God forbid_... for her grand daughter.

"Have I told you the story of how Sam saved someone when he was seven?" she asked.

"No," replied Jules.

"We live in this Base that has a man-made dam where kids converge to swim in the summer. We're all so used to the kids having unsupervised swim around there no one took any notice." She paused, again with that half smile on her face. "Come to think of it, today, all of us parents would have been arrested for negligence. But back then... the kids were much freer and the parents a lot more relaxed."

"A five year old girl didn't know how to swim and panicked in the water. Sam saw her go under three times and jumped, hauled the little girl back to the edge of the dam. Another kid came running to get his Mom who gave the girl a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Sam was not a very good swimmer. He could swim, but I didn't think he had it in him to save another. I asked what he was thinking, you know what he said, 'Some people need saving.'"

"I asked him if he was worried for himself?"

He said to me, "'No, I can look after myself.' Even then, Jules... darling, at a young age Sam could take care of himself." She reached out to touch her hands lightly, "Look at me..."

She gazed at her mother's eyes, they were glistening with tears, "There is nothing to be gained worrying about the uncertain. The unknown. **Live for what you know to be true at the moment**. Right now, Sadie needs you. Keep your mind on her. Keep your mind on hope. Trust. Trust him. He won't give up. If something's happened to him, it would be one hell of a lucky shot. I don't think anyone's that lucky."

Sam felt an arm around his armpit, someone was hauling him up, _Thank God_. But they were speaking a foreign language. He tried to open his eyes, to focus. But the world was spinning, he was disorientated. _Who are these people?_

He felt someone pull his leather jacket apart, exposing the neck pouch he was carrying. Hands grabbed it, voices arguing over the spoils. A male voice spoke sharply and everyone quieted down, then an explosion of laughter. They delighted in his faux American passport for its high re-sale value, and money. American green bucks and Indonesian Rupiah. And a phone.

They patted him down. One man unbuckled his belt and stripped him of his camo pants, gortex combat boots, his Rolex Submariner. He was conscious but had no strength to fight off the men. _How many are they? _He looked around but was uncertain whether there were five or 10. Maybe I'm having double vision. But at his current condition, they might as well be a hundred men, it didn't make any difference.

It was his stainless steel Rolex Submariner that saved his life. Flying low overhead, Black Kite, Cindy and Aguila peeled their eyes on every bleeping fishing boats, yachts, hundreds of kiometres of sea water for Sam. As the man took his watch from him, and peered into the face dial of the watch, the steel glinted sharply as the sun hit it. That was enough for Aguila, "There" he said.

"Where?" replied Black Kite.

"Your three o' clock, look for glinting metal."

"Fuck, yeah." Black Kite flew low over the fishing boat. Aguila and Cindy jumped down, the men, all five of them surprised at the speed with which they were boarded.

Cindy spoke their language, "He's our friend." Noticing Sam was practically stripped bare, she asked for his things back, especially the Rolex. It was returned hesitatingly.

"Passport," said Aguila. Everyone played dumb. "Passport is passport in any language, buddy." When no one wanted to give it up, he raised the rifle and said, "Cindy translate, 'Not worth it, buddy'."

Cindy translated, his passport was returned. Cindy raised her eyebrows. She wasn't sure what else was in the pouch but she was willing to bet there was more than a passport in it. They got the drift and offered back the phone, one of them saying, "It doesn't work anyway." She took it back and said, "One last chance." And the money was returned.

They couldn't get Sam into the chopper, so Aguila commandeered the fishing boat, "Cindy, ask them how fast this boat could go?"

She did and when she translated she said, "Believe it or not, this junk gets up to 50 knots."

Aguila laughed, "This is not a fishing boat and these are not fishermen. What are they? Drug runners?" He motioned for Black Kite with two thumbs up. Cameron lifted off and escorted them from above. Sam was drifting out of consciousness. "No, you don't," said Cindy alarmed. A horrifying thought crossed her mind, _Did we get to you too late? _Aguila concentrated on getting them to the safe house, everyone held on for dear life as the boat practically flew out of the water.

An hour later, someone knocked on the door. _Who could that be? _Jules excused herself to open it. A man from Military Intelligence was right outside. "Ma'am," he said, "may I come in?"

She stood aside and braced herself, unwilling to think too much ahead.

* * *

Sorry for the cliff hanger, I promise to update quickly..


	12. The Messenger

_Author's Note: This chapter dedicated to sydcasy and bettsam0731. Thank you both for your continued support. _

_I can't think of a better analogy than riding a roller coaster, that's what life's like for every one of us. Sometimes we're down, sometimes we're up, sometimes we're on a turn and sometimes we're in a twist. This chapter is the fun bit of riding the roller coaster. You've reached the top and you're on you're way down, your heart is in your throat, you close your eyes, you lift your arms up and scream "weeeeeee." _

_To all of you, thank you for coming for a riding with me. By the way, this chapter is by no means the last. _

**The Messenger**

Jules stood aside to let the young man in. Mom Bradock stood up and walked towards the newly arrived, pushed by some invisible force because if it were left up to her she'd have stayed nailed to her seat. Both women held their breath.

Jules' heart was thumping so loudly she could hear the rhythmic beating in her eardrums. She wanted to say, "Right, now that you're here let's get it over with" but she couldn't. For half a minute, she was mute. No words, no sound came out of her mouth. She tunnel visioned on the man's lips, _What are you saying?_ she thought – singularly.

It was Mom Braddock who snapped her out of it. She hugged her tightly, laughing. Laughing like she won the biggest Powerball Lotto ever. "Mom," she said, fearful her mother-in-law has lost the plot entirely. Nelly Braddock looked her in the eyes and said, "He's fine. He's alright. Oh my God, my heart is about to burst." She turned to the young man and said, "Tell us, how's he? Where is he?"

Ramrod-straight, the young man snapped to attention and introduced himself firstly, "Antoine Fournier, non-commissioned Officer Canada Forces Military Intelligence. Army Communication and Information Systems Specialist, Ma'am." His title alone was a mouthful, he paused to catch his breath, "I'm here to set up a comm link so Constable Braddock could see his family, Ma'am."

Sadie, who has mastered perfect timing, started to fuss at this time. Her grandmother hurriedly picked her up. Jules, in the meantime, found that she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She's been through the wringer, felt the isolation, thought the worse, forced herself to hope and trust beyond her capacity. These last 27 hours, she has felt the compelling force of this love, this binding love, for her husband.

Finally, her heart rate slowed and her mind begun to clear. "Can I offer you something?" she asked Fournier. He nodded, and then she noticed that the tall young man may only be 20 at a push. Eye glasses and a shy smile gave him a nerdy look, "Yes, please Ma'am, a glass of water please and where can I set this up?" he asked showing her a suitcase. In it was a very expensive, super hi-tech laptop computer.

"Here," she said, She cleared the dining table and showed him where the closest power source was. He grinned and said, "That's great." He was in his element, "Ma'am," he said, "You'll love this. You can't buy this computer, I configured it myself for Canada Forces, for intelligence purposes."

She handed him a glass of water, grinning from ear to ear, relieved her big little brother SRU Officer Spike Scarlatti wasn't around. They'd have talked shop and then it'll be tomorrow before she finds out what happened to her dear husband. Well, truthfully, she might not even know, she'll likely shoot the two of them. The young man smiled and said, "Sorry, I'm just excited Ma'am."

"Don't worry about it, I'm used to Geeks." On second thought, not so used to geeks that she won't shoot him anyway if he didn't just carry on with what he's supposed to do. She was very anxious to find out what's going on.

Mom Braddock bounced little Sadie on her lap happily. As he set-up the super computer, he informed them, "I was sent here because Constable Braddock was giving everyone hell, refusing to get treated until he was promised he'll see his family." Now, the two Braddock women knew for sure he was ok, the Sam they knew was only compliant when he's asleep, unconscious or would be, God forbid, if he was dead. For as long as he was a pain in the ass, he was walkin', talkin', breathin' and livin'.

The comm link was set up in minutes. The camera panned on Sam, he was in a hospital bed, dressed in hospital gown with a tube connected to his arm administering saline solution to help with his severe dehydration. He looked groggy but appeared not to be sedated. He arrived at the safe house unconscious, Cindy monitored his breathing and heart rate, he was alright on both counts although his breathing was shallow and his heart rate slow.

Combat medics quickly gave him a once over, and hauled him on-board a helicopter ambulance, hooked him up to all sorts machinery to monitor everything from his airflow to his heart rate. In the movies, they would want to wake up an unconscious person, not so in real life. The machines were already telling them what they needed to know; the EEG (electroencephalography) was telling them he has good brain activity and the ECG (electrocardiogram) was telling them his heart was beating just right. His unconsciousness was his body telling him to shut the hell up and rest it.

The helo arrived at the Singapore Military hospital facility in just 40 minutes, in that time Sam woke up and they met the most difficult patient they ever had the pleasure of treating thus far. He refused anything that could possibly render him unconscious, asleep or not in possession of his mental faculties. Nothing that could cause his speech to slur or his saliva to dribble or his head to roll to one side. And if he was in pain, and he was in God Almighty pain territory, it didn't matter. He insisted through sheer will power that he wants to see his family first.

While he waited for someone to do something about it, Aguila, Cindy and Black Kite arrived and that's when the wheels started to turn in his favour. Cindy called on her office to set something up, Jones and Lin handled the Canadian side of things. So now through a high tech computer screen, they see Sam clearly, as if he was right there in front of them.

Jules and Nelly observed his blistered skin caused by being in sea water for over two hours. A long scabby wound has formed along the left cheek he cut stabbing the Kommando and his eyes were blood shot. They didn't know it yet but his back, every square inch of it, would later turn black and blue from the impact of hitting the water from five story high. He sustained internal injuries from being choked, his wind pipe extremely sore due to swelling and severe bruising. And refusing pain killers meant enduring pain so excruciating any effort to speak sent electrical impulses to his brain screaming bloody hell.

Unable to speak, he waved at them, a small gesture but it required a huge effort.

The camera panned to Cindy who smiled and introduced herself. She was sitting next to his bedside, "Hi, I'm Cindy. Just want to let you know Jules, your name is Jules right?" She nodded with a smile and replied in the affirmative.

"Well, I just want to let you know that his guy," touching his arm lightly, "made a pass at me several times. And propositioned every single female we met. You should keep him in a short leash." Sam's eyes widened but was unable to reply. There were four other people in the room. Tim who was still in operational gear. Thunderhead who was in the bed next to Sam, his jaw wired shut but was holding up a sign in his chicken scratch, "He's fookin AWESOME." It made them laugh.

Then there was Aguila who was seated on a couch minus one leg. Two years ago, Juan left Delta Force when he stepped on an IED, he was lucky to be alive but lost a leg. He has been fitted with a prosthetic leg, earning him another nickname: Bionic Man. The stump of his leg was blistered and had to be bandaged by a pretty nurse who, sadly for him, was a former Singapore Army medic. She was out of the question then. He has an urban survival philosophy he lived by strictly. Do not mess with women who carry a fire arm or who can handle themselves.

Then there was Cameron. Banjo Cameron, AKA Black Kite. He waved at them, grinning like a lunatic. Aviator sunglasses on, denim pants and shirtless. Aguila reprimanded him, "That's Sam wife and his mom, have a little respect. Put your shirt on!"

He looked at the Hispanic American blankly, "What shirt?" he asked dead pan. Then they suddenly realised he hadn't been in one. "Fuck me," said Tim.

"It was hot," he said in his defense, "And besides... what can I say I'm Australian. Just Google shirtless Australian men and you'd understand," he said cheekily.

"What about shitless Australian men?" asked Cindy to everyone hilarity.

The camera panned back to Sam, he had tears in his eyes. He wanted to see them but above all he wanted Jules to see him... and them, the people he went along with for this adventure. For many years, his world was all about secrets and shadows. He wanted to bring Jules in into his world, to the extend he was permitted and to the length she would be willing to go.

Antoine shifted the camera to show little Sadie who was on the floor commando crawling. Everyone in the hospital room hooted and clapped when she turned over and raised herself on her bottom. She swayed backwards and forwards on her butt. "Way to go," said Cindy.

Finally, Jules found her voice, "Thanks guys," she said. She didn't trust herself to say much. Right now, she didn't know whether to give Sam a thumping for what they've been through or to hug him tightly. The feelings swirling inside her were overwhelming.

Nelly Braddock said the same, "Thank you."

They were so noisy patients in the other room got curious. There was a knock and then the door opened, "What's going on here?" asked one Singaporean SOF in crutches. He was followed by three others with various injuries.

"Nothing mate," replied Cameron, "Just sayin' 'hello' to people in Canada." The SOF warriors got into camera range waved, made faces and introduced themselves to the merry band of brothers and sister!

The commotion was so loud it brought Dr Seri, the Tiger of Malaysia into the room. Although she practiced medicine at the Singapore Military Hospital she was Malaysian by birth. "What's the meaning of all this?" She was the only person alive on earth that SOF warriors feared, "Nothing" they said.

"Just makin' friends" said another.

"Go back to your rooms! You guys have to stay off your feet." They heeded, hobbling out of the room in their plaster cast, eye patch, wheelchair and sling.

"And you," she pointed to Sam, "You need to be completely checked. The sooner the better." She turned and noticed Cameron, gave him with cold stare and said, "And you, put your shirt back on."

Everyone simultaneously replied, "What shirt?" She opened her mouth, closed them again and finally said, "The only good warrior is one who is sedated. Tam is doing very well, he's out of surgery." They all turned quietly serious. Tim stood up and said, "I better check on him."

Another 15 minutes and they logged off the live feed. Antoine Fournier packed up. Before he left he told Jules in all seriousness, "It was a pleasure Ma'am."

"Thank you," she said.

After the young communication specialist has left, Jules turned to her mother-in-law. "Mom, how did you know..." She didn't finish the question, Nelly Braddock replied, "Because if something bad had happened to Sam, they wouldn't have sent a non-commissioned officer from Military Intelligence. They would have sent a ranking commissioned officer and they certainly wouldn't have sent him alone."

She exhaled and held Jules' hands, "Forty five years as a military wife. Some protocol and rituals, I know by heart."

They hugged, her head laid on her mother-in-law's bosom. At that moment, she was just a girl who needed her mother.


	13. The Revelation

Author's Note: This chapter dedicated to nreed2, holls517, giggles811, Airforce1990, ShirleyTemple1932 and dawnpritchard66.

**The Revelation**

On the third day of their hospital stay, Cindy brought two men to see them confidentially, Mr. Soetanto and Prof Singh. They requested to meet with their saviours, the men and woman to whom they owe their freedom, and their lives.

In spite of their injuries, or maybe because of it, they felt hugely empathetic towards to the two gentlemen. Six days ago, before his ordeal, Mr Soetanto was a sprightly 70-year-old genteel senior citizen. After just three days in captivity, he looked closer to death than his current state of ill-health warranted. Three days of not knowing whether it was to be his last day on earth nearly did him in. After his rescue, he has had three days to contemplate how he wants to live out the remainder of his life. He determined that he would start by this simple act of thanksgiving and then a life devoted to charity.

Before his captivity, Professor Singh was a hopeful intellectual. At 45, he's at his prime, with everything to live for. He has a young family, a job he loved where he dedicated his every waking hour to and a desire to save the world. He believed in peace, believed in the power of harnessing the mind to power the world, but after his near death experience in the hands of rogue ex-special forces, the demarcation line between good guys and bad guys had blurred. Now he wasn't too sure if it was all worth it anymore apart for the love of his wife and two children.

The two men were wheeled in. Mr Soetanto looked far worse than the Professor. He had the look of an injured man, both physically and psychologically but when he spoke, he spoke clearly in British-accented English he learned as a youngster in a boarding school back in his youth.

"Thank you for your troubles," he said. "Ï couldn't possibly repay you for the risks you took." He turned to Tam, "Especially to you… you could have died." The SOF warrior gave a slight humble nod; not used to praise or attention, he was slightly uncomfortable.

When it was Prof Singh's turn, he put two hands together and bowed in thanks, "I am totally indebted to all of you."

Cindy spoke for all of them, "We were only doing our job. If not us, there would have been others." It was followed by an uneasy silence until the spook asked if they could ask some questions.

The two men obliged, "It's the least with can do," they said.

There was one thing that bothered Cindy about the kidnapping caper, she wasn't sure how she'd asked without tipping her hand, but now wasn't the time to be hyper cautious. "Four days ago, I had an opportunity to inquire where you were, your eldest daughter told me you're in the yacht."

The old man's eyes brightened up, "So that was you - pretending to be my darling daughter. Annisa has vehemently denied she was home for the party. She emailed us photos to prove that she was in the Caribbean. I am very impressed, young lady. You fooled my family." Cindy smiled at the compliment despite her reservations.

The old man gathered his Italian suit around him, as if he was cold. "When my own bodyguards turned against me, they indeed held me against my will in the yacht. They sent a ransom demand to my daughter. Then my head of security, Allan Fleuer, offered his services to mediate between my family and the kidnappers. My family had no reason to doubt his sincerity. The day I was kidnapped was the day they were all let go. I just didn't think I needed that level of security anymore especially since as I intended to move to a private island in the Mediterranean."

"The ransom demand was US$15 Million." They all whistled.

"The day we were rescued was the day my family was going to hand over the ransom money. They decided not to go to the police and to pay up because Allan guaranteed my return."

Then, it was Sam's turn, "Did you know each other before the kidnapping?"

The two men looked at each other and shook their heads in unison. "No, I have definitely not even been acquainted with the Professor."

Singh added, "I haven't been away on a holiday since I took the research grant from the University of Toronto where I also teach full-time. That's been five years of working non-stop. Then my wife insisted that we ought to go or she'll divorce me. The ultimatum worked. We chose to go to Bali because it was far from Canada and we wanted to see her family. My wife is Canadian of Indonesian descent. Until the rescue I have never met Mr Soetanto."

He looked at the frail old man, "I'm so sorry I couldn't help you… I could hear you crying at night and I felt so helpless." The men clasped each other's hands, weeping. They all recognised the symptoms; the two former captives were in the early stages of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Somewhere in the Middle East, Allan Fleuer, ex-JTF-2, now one of Interpol's most wanted, was contemplating revenge. He went to Pakistan to arrange for a buyer for the Professor. An emissary from Al-Qaeda, met with him in the heart of Lahore, and a price of US$5 Million dollars was agreed on in exchange for the Professor, a leading light in nuclear fusion boosting, and two suitcase nukes.

The professor was promised to be delivered to the terrorist group, a goodwill deposit of US$150,000 had been handed to him; the lump-sum burning a hole in his pocket. Now, he was on the run from the Canadian Government, from the might of Mr Soetanto's financial empire, and from the terrorist group. _Someone would have to pay for this. _

In one fell swoop, he lost his men, a windfall of US$20M dollars and a long-dreamed of retirement in the wilderness of Canada.

But he considered himself lucky, in that when he couldn't raise his men on their cell phones, he knew instinctively it had all gone south. After receiving the deposit, he called Ms. Ika Soetanto, he remembered the conversation well.

"Ms Soetanto, I'm just checking in to make sure the ransom money is ready." His mouth tightened as he recalled the gloating, the unrestraint merriment in her voice, "Oh Allan, you need not worry, Mr Soetanto has been rescued."

He was appalled, enraged, sickened to his stomach. But with practiced ease he replied in a measured tone, "So glad to hear that Ms Soetanto. In that case, since you don't need me anymore, I shall go back to Canada. Take care." It would be hours later before the full extent of his deceit would be uncovered. By this time, it was too late for Military Intelligence to catch up with Allan Fleuer in Pakistan; and too late for the Soetanto family to get to him.

Jones and Lin were convinced Samuel Braddock should be told that Mr Allan Fleuer had escaped the dragnet. _Forewarned is forearmed_, they reckoned. But someone too cleaver for his own boots disagreed. "It's need-to-know information. Braddock doesn't need to know. His role in this operation is done and dusted." The two soldiers obeyed orders although Jones has a lot of misgivings.

It could still have been fine for members of F4.2, but for one weak link in the chain. All the hush-hush about the kidnapping meant there were people who should have known, yet didn't know, who was culpable. One of them was Mr Soetanto's old faithful driver because, although he was a trusted employee, he was way down the totem pole.

He has driven the old man for forty long years; since they were both young men. Out of loyalty to him, Mr Soetanto has refused to let him go and be replaced by someone younger, fitter and especially trained.

Allan called the driver, "Baba," he said, "this is Allan, how are you?" The driver was pleased to hear from the big man, "Mr Allan, I'm sorry you have left us. How are you?"

"I'm good. Very good. I'm touring Europe at the moment. How's Mr Soetanto doing?"

"Oh, he's well. He's visiting the people who rescued him. Good men. We are here at the Singapore Military Hospital." They chatted some more, but before ending the call, he told the driver not to mention he called, "Ok," replied the driver, "Please take care, Mr Allan."

Allan's next call was to a nurse he had dated, who happened to work at the Military Hospital where he himself was admitted in the past. He called on the pretext of wanting to catch up before he leaves Indonesia, not realising he was not in the Asian archipelago by any stretch of the imagination. "By the way, I heard from the grapevine that there's a bunch of heroes admitted to the Hospital recently."

"Oh yeah, one of them is Canadian, like you."

"Oh yeah? What's his name? Maybe I know him."

"You probably do, JTF-2 is such a small unit, I know. He's name is Sam Braddock." The revelation would unravel Sam's life.

Allan Fleuer, nicknamed **Stalker**, for his ability to find and kill his quarry, decided he would have to start with Sam Braddock until he could get to every single one of them, up the line. Even among Special Forces not everyone was equal. Stalker was **apex predator**. Blondie didn't have anything on him.

A few more minutes of sweet-nothings, they hang up. Allan tore up his Canadian passport in the name of Allan Fleuer and bought a ticket in the name of Alan Flowers in his South African passport, he was going back to his homeland.

"I will see you soon Braddock." It was spoken with undisguised menace.

_Teaser: The next chapter would be spine-tingling scary please make sure you are seated while reading!_

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	14. Vengeful Stalker

**Vengeful Stalker**

Alan Flowers was cooling his heels in Cairo. He was on the hotel balcony nursing a flute of champagne. The views were magnificent, not that his mind dwelled on the Pyramids nor did he think of their cultural and historical significance. His mind was on Samuel Braddock.

_Braddock, the name sounds familiar. _A smile formed on his lips but didn't reach his eyes. _Of course_, he thought, _that Braddock_, _the one who killed his best buddy._ And he recalled a General of the same last name.

He was tempted to call the nurse again to ask for the names of the others but resisted it. Asking for Sam's name was a simple and natural progression in their conversation but asking for the others may trigger an unwarranted curiosity. _Best to just get my hands on Sam's neck and squeeze the name of the one next up the line. And the next, and the next, until my men are avenged._

Geographically, Alan was closer to home. From Cairo to Toronto Ontario was roughly 9200 km (5730 mi). As of yesterday, Sam was still in Singapore, 15,000 km away (roughly 9,300 mi). According to the nurse, Sam wasn't due to be discharged for another three days. He rubbed his chin as he mentally thought through his itinerary. He was very pleased indeed that they were as perfect as it could possibly be. The three days head start didn't mean squat if he couldn't make full use of it. The plan didn't include stopping at any first world airports where security measures were second to none. He especially was never going to set foot anywhere near Heathrow in London or JFK in New York.

He was familiar with the Middle East and Africa, having been assigned here for months on ends in the past; and the advantage of being friendly with many renegade soldiers who ply their skills here. One phone call got him in touched with a gun runner who fly a tin can plane into the interiors of Africa. For a sum of US$20,000 he was willing to fly the legendary Stalker to Morocco.

From Morocco, a former Army pilot who now flew private planes would fly him as part of his crew to a private airstrip in New York, not far from the Canadian border. He was registered as Oscar Childs in the manifest, "Flight Steward". Meanwhile, the real flight steward was given a 'separation pay' of US$10,000 at Stalker's expense. By this time, the genuine Oscar Childs has spent so much money on booze, women and drugs he could hardly remember his name, let alone how he got to Morocco.

_Serving a bunch of spoiled scions of America's richest enjoying an exotic holiday in Casablanca, reliving and reenacting the night club scene from the movie of the same name. _ This, if anything, was what worried him. He has no patience for indulgent, disrespectful spoiled brats, he hope he doesn't end up killing all their passengers; he cracked his knuckles,_ They better not be difficult._

He thought through the itinerary again. All up, from Cairo to Toronto, it would take two days! _And Braddock would still be in Singapore nursing his wounds. _

Now on their fourth day in the hospital, Blondie fidgeted and moaned and groaned and was generally a pain in everyone's ass. Thunderhead wasn't much better except he couldn't moan nor groan so Blondie did it for the two of them. By mid-afternoon, he got out of bed and said, "That's it, I'm discharging myself."

He called Cindy to facilitate his immediate release. He called Jones and Lin to arrange for his immediate departure, "Come hell or high water, I'm leaving so save your breathe," he told them.

Cindy and Jones arrived to discuss the nature of his request. The Singaporean agent went off to see the hospital registrar, leaving Jones to deal with the man-boy.

Jones said, "Ok, we can arrange to fly you immediately if you're willing to escort the Professor home." Sam went ballistic, he bolted out of his bed and raged, "You have got to be Fucking. Kidding. Me. The guy has a target on his forehead the size of a beach ball (an on-going joke with his former Sargent, Greg Parker). I want to reach my family in one piece."

"Ok, ok, cool it. Hear me out. He's flying today on a private plane," she said.

"Why didn't you say so?" he replied smiling.

"When you reached Toronto, all you have to do is hand him over to RCMP anti-terror unit team for a debrief. You know them, they know you. You leave the airport by yourself. No further responsibility."

Sam jumped up so high, then rushed over to Lt Jones to kiss the young woman on the top of her head. He was so happy he went over to Thunderhead's bedside and kissed the guy on his head too. Nick Coyle rolled his eyes and wished it had been Cindy instead.

Braddock pressed the button to summon a nurse, he only had to wait a couple of minutes, a health care professional came in and asked what she could do for her most difficult patient ever. Sam's eyebrows went up and said, "Me? Difficult? No way. He is," pointing to Thunderhead, "except his jaw is wired shut. Anyway, I want my clothes back, I'm out of here."

The nurse looked at him like he had horns, "What clothes? The ones they fished you out in? You'd be arrested for indecent exposure on those," she said. Jones cackled.

"I can't leave in his hideous hospital gown," he lamented.

Then they heard a familiar voice, "Don't worry, I've brought you some clothes, courtesy of Mr Soetanto." Cindy handed him several bags, he reached out to received them and made a comment, "These better fit."

Jones smirked, "We know your sizes remember?"

Aguila who had been every quiet in a corner, piped up, "It better not be more camo pants." Sam raised one eyebrow and groaned.

"Your Mom should have taught you to stop groaning when you got passed your teen years," said the nurse.

"Right, you have one hour to get ready, flight leaves at 2000Z."

Aguila got up on one leg... still waiting for his prosthetic leg to be repaired, "You have room for another?"

Jones raised her hands in defeat, before she knew it Thunderhead was out of bed, too. "Ok, ok. I'll arrange it."

Cindy gave them several bags as well, "Your wardrobes, courtesy of..." they didn't let her finished, "Mr Soetanto," they chorused.

Convinced it was a done deal anyway, they didn't wait for official word. The three men showered, and came out dressed in Armani suits and Ferragomo shoes. Their Rolex and Omegas completing the look. Cindy and Jones gaped at them open-mouthed, "Well, hello James Bond."

On the very same day, **Friday**, but from different time zones (2000 in Singapore and 1400 in Cairo), the Stalker; Blondie and friends boarded their planes. Alan flew out in a tin can plane for Morocco. He and his gun-running pilot would be flying low in a straight line for five hours.

Meanwhile, Sam and company, boarded a Gulfstream G550. A large-cabin, ultra-long-range business jet. Powered by Rolls-Royce BR710 turbofan engines, it could fly nonstop covering a distance of 6,750-nautical-mile (12,501 km) at Mach 0.80 and a high-speed cruise capability of Mach 0.87. With its long legs, the G550 easily linked Singapore with London, their first stop; to drop off Thunderhead and to refuel.

As expected, it was equipped with the Gulfstream PlaneView cockpit, the most advanced flight deck in business aviation. The PlaneView cockpit presented critical flight information on 14-inch (36 cm) liquid crystal displays arranged for easy interpretation.

But its the Gulfstream's cabin that brought out the boyish verve among the passengers. "Wow," they said joyfully. This particular plane has four distinct living areas, three temperature zones, and a floor-plan with seating for 12 passengers. Maintaining contact with the world below was easy; thanks to a host of standard communication features: A fax machine, a printer, a wireless local area network and satellite communications. It also had Broad Band Multi-Link (BBML), for fast Internet connection speed. Sam sent an email to Jules saying he was arriving home, and to expect him within 48 hours, "_plus or minus a few_".

The Gulfstream's estimated travel time to London, 14 hours.

The Stalker arrived at Morocco a little behind schedule, what was meant to have been a five-hour flight became seven. Flying in a tin can in an area not known for friendly elements meant the pilot has had to make several adjustments in the course of flying. Alan wasn't stressed out about it, as a former commando he was used to it; operations rarely ever went according to plan. As Alan walked on the tarmac in Casablanca, Sam was still flying over India.

His buddy met him at the private hanger, "How was it?"

"Exciting, but I'd rather not be flying in a tin can again," he said as he shook hands with his buddy. They walked towards a late model Mercedez Benz, "I'll take you to your hotel, we leave Morocco for New York tomorrow at 11:00, local time. Get sometime in you, sleep well and I'll see you back here at 0800 for pre-flight."

The Stalker adjusted his expensive wrist watch to local time. He wound his Luminox to 1800, Morocco being two hours behind Cairo. _Fourteen hours down time_, he thought to himself. He wished he could be jumping onto the next plane for New York but he couldn't take a regular passenger plane, _at least Sam is still in Singapore. _Little did he know.

The Gulfstream arrived on schedule to drop off Nick Coyle, aka Thunderhead, who was pleased to be getting home. Home being _The Line_, a reference to the train stop to the SAS' home barrack, Hereford. He gave everyone a good thumping on the shoulder, and he got the same treatment back. The plane would be refueling and also go through a routine check up. The passengers were let out to wonder about and were told to be back in four hours. They adjusted their watches to local time 0200, **Saturday**.

At the time Sam was wandering around an airport in London, it was also 0200 in Morocco. For the first time since they crossed each others path, Blondie and the Stalker were in the same time zone.

0500: Sam, the Professor and Aguila re-boarded the plane, their next destination New York to drop off the Hispanic American. In Morocco, the Stalker woke up refreshed, went to the hotel's restaurant and ate a hearty breakfast.

0600: The Gulfstream took off for New York, an estimated five to seven hours flight depending on atmospheric conditions.

1100: The private plane, another Gulfstream, a 450 model, left Morocco on schedule for a private airstrip near Lewiston, New York. Estimated flying time six to seven hours. A hop and a skip to the Canadian border.

Fate was smiling on Sam this day, the first Gulfstream made it in five hours. And New York being five hours behind meant they had to wound their time pieces back five hours. It's now 0600, local time.

Aguila said, "So long" to everyone and "Adios Amigos." The plane would again refuel but won't be lifting off again for another six hours. The Professor was to be debriefed by the U.S. State Department, the FBI, the CIA, and the NSA. Jones and Lin conveniently "forgot" to tell Sam this small inconvenience before departing Singapore. So now, he was trapped in New York unable to leave the Professor behind. He hauled his sorry ass off his seat to escort the Professor, but was told rather impolitely that he wasn't invited. His short retort was, "He doesn't leave the plane unless I do, too." The two FBI agents thought lamely what one injured man could do about it. They didn't count on Sam being clever. He simply handcuffed the Professor to himself. It was a classic stand off at the OK Corral. The agents were forced to call head office who simply instructed, "Take them both."

The second Gulfstream made it in seven hours, it's now 1200, New York time. Meanwhile, Sam and the Professor were still guests of the U.S. Government. Debriefing as debriefing goes always took ages and took longer when multiple agencies with different agendas were involved and wanting different information. By now, Sam was fretting.

1300: The Stalker hired a car under the assumed name Allen Flores and was seen driving in the direction of the Canadian border. He would take it easy. Now's not the time to be stopped for traffic infraction. Poor Sam was still with the Professor. His blood pressure was now nearing coronary level.

2000: The Stalker crossed the border and made it back into Toronto Central Business District, booked himself a room in a nondescript bed and breakfast in his new identity: Allen Flores, a mature-aged backpacker. He spent time searching information on Samuel Braddock, didn't take long to find out he was with the elite police unit, SRU.

Across the ditch, Sam was still with the Professor. The friendly debrief has gradually escalated to a nervous and decidedly unfriendly one. At this point, after a grueling 14 hour interview, Blondie lost it. "We're not prisoners of the United States, we're done here. We're going."

They were escorted back to their plane but the pilot has already retired for the night. After a long journey who could blame him? Sam was grim-faced. To the credit of their American cousins, the FBI offered to fly them home in their Lear Jet. Both men were quick to say, "Yes, please. Thank you."

2100: The Stalker called SRU, introduced himself as a former Army buddy of Sam. Peter answered, "He's away, sorry." He knew from experience that no one would give away personal details, not outright, not even if he asked nicely. He said, by way of a friendly conversation, "That's a shame, I'd like to take him out to paint the town red."

Peter laughed, "I don't think his wife would like that, these days he's on Daddy duty after shift." _Wife and child, huh_, he thought.

"Whoa, when did that happen?"

"Baby is now seven months," replied Peter not suspecting he was disclosing something he shouldn't have.

"I'll send flowers there, can someone deliver it to his wife before it wilts?"

"Of course."

The Stalker shut the phone and smiled. _So easy_, he thought. _So very, very easy_. He ordered the most expensive flower arrangement online. So huge, it couldn't be missed. The Modus Operandi was simple and sophisticated at the same time. Wait across the street from the SRU HQ carpark for someone to deliver the flowers to Sam's home; then follow. The Stalker played with his favourite piece of weapon, an AirKat knife with a titanium handle, as he mulled over his losses. _Someone has to pay._

2130: The Lear Jet took off.

0100: **Sunday**, the plane skidded to a halt on the tarmac. Sam and the Professor were met by RCMP anti terror unit, introductions were made. He handed Mr Singh to them, who in turn effusively thank him for his care.

0200: Sam reached their apartment complex... he has a real bad feeling... something was nagging at him. But what!


	15. Face Off

_Author's Note: In my world, Spike Scarlatti has been consulting with CSIS. For back story, please read the one-shot fan fic entitled, "Sealed: Never to be Opened"_

**Face Off**

Sam gingerly opened the door to their apartment but the light in Sadie's bedroom told him his wife and his daughter were both up anyway. He heard Jules trying to soothe the wee one, he tiptoed towards the room, peeped in and spied her jigging the wailing baby in her arms. "What have you done to her?" he asked.

Surprised, she turned abruptly round. Her eyes widened pleased to see him back safe and sound. Sadie was still crying her lungs out until he took her from his mother's arms, instantly she stopped screaming. In this instance Jules was just beyond insulted, she spoke to the child, wagging her finger, "Here I was caring for you all week, all by myself, and what do I get?"

Sadie ignored her and reached for Sam's nose, delighting in his presence. "Oh come on," he said grinning, "She's just pleased to see a handsome face." Jules rolled her eyes and asked if he wanted to have something to eat.

"I'm starving actually," he said. He followed her to the kitchen, "What's for dinner?"

"Your favourite. Roast beef and potatoes." One thing she liked about Sam, he has simple tastes. He wasn't one for extravagant dishes or elaborate plating, he was as blokey as a bloke could get. Give him his meat and potatoes and he was all set.

"But I don't want to eat alone," he pouted. She laughed and set another plate on the table for herself. He put Sadie down on the living room floor to explore; watched her for a minute and swept his eyes all around to make sure there wasn't anything potentially hazardous to her health before joining Jules in the kitchen. He opened the fridge for a bottle of beer; took a swig of the brew then watched her potter around the stove, he uttered, "I missed you."

She turned around from the stove with a healthy serving of freshly steamed vegetables, "I missed you, too. Welcome back, sweetheart." He smiled and reached out to lightly pinch her cheek. She removed the roast beef from the oven, and gave him an offering of chocolate pudding to celebrate his return. A simple yet loving gesture.

They ate without much conversation. They were both bone weary. Wishfully, Sam thought that after a few hours sleep they would return to normal schedule. Minutes later, Sadie fussed again. Jules got up, "I'll put her back to bed now. The teething has upset her routine but she's getting better."

He nodded tiredly and said, "I'll be there soon..." He got up shortly to wash the dishes, listening to Jules' sing their baby to sleep. He showered, then climbed into bed next to Jules, stil wet. He was out like a light the instant his back hit the mattress. Jules stayed wide awake, her sleep pattern having been wildly interrupted throughout the hellish week. She listened to the rhythm of his breathing pattern. _Inhale... exhale._.. She followed his steady rhythm and before long she, too, was asleep.

She woke up at six in the morning, laid perfectly still enjoying the happy sound emanating from the other room. Sadie was wide awake babbling to herself. She has recently discovered her feet and been chewing them greedily. She heard the faint rattling of mobile toys through the walls; and their baby's cackling as she managed to make things move.

Ten minutes later, Sadie started to cry. She got up swiftly to get to the little one. They followed the same routine: feed, burp, bath, change and play. Before she knew it, two hours has passed and Sam who was normally an early morning person was still out with the fairies. She changed into her tracksuit, put Sadie in her stroller, left a note on the dining table for Sam, "Gone running in the park."

The expensive flower arrangement arrived at SRU at nine am precisely, the Stalker was already watching the carpark as the delivery van pulled in. The lavish bouquet of white flowers, which included roses, lisianthus, Queen Anne's lace, hydrangea and bouvardia with delicate maidenhair fern in a flazed French country pot cost him over two hundred dollars, a lot of money he reckoned for something that would simply wilt and die.

Team One was finishing their shift when the delivery man approached the despacther's desk. Sid signed for the flowers. "Who's that for?" inquired Spike.

"For Sam and Jules... from a former Army buddy of his. By the way, would you mind taking it to Jules since Sam is away?"

"I'd love to," said Spike. "I'll swing by their place on the way home." He took the bouquet in his arm just as his teammate Leah Kearns came out of the locker room, "Whoa, are you in trouble with Winnie?"

He beamed at her, "No way, I'm the perfect guy, remember? It's for Sam and Jules from an old Army buddy. I'm delivering it to them on my way home."

"That's very kind of you, Officer Scarlatti." They walked to the car park together. Spike pulled out first. Leah sat in her car waiting for the air conditioner to cool it but kept her eyes peeled in the mirror. She watched Spike turn into the street and noticed a car pullout after him seconds later. She would normally not suspect anything except she was certain that the SUV has an American license plate, _Now why would anyone with an US registration be hanging around SRU HQ?_

_It may be nothing but just in case... _She called Sid and asked him to rewind the CCTV tapes facing the street outside HQ to 9:00am, "D'you see a SUV with a US license plate?"

Sid replied, "Yeah."

"Rewind it back to 8:30, will ya?"

"It's there."

"8:00?"

"Whoa, Leah, yeah... it's been sittin' there. I think it's doin' a recce."

"Go back slowly... tell me what time it arrived."

Sid rewound the tape slowly... "Leah, it arrived at 7:55am and waited till Spike left. Do you think it's following Spike?"

"Don't know but I better warn him. Thanks, Sid." Leah pressed speed dial, the phone rang once before she heard her Team Leader's chirpy high pitched voice. "What's up, Leah?"

"Someone's following you. SUV with US license plate. Watch your back."

"Ok..." he replied, instantly alert. "Thanks for the heads up... I'll shake him off."

Spike turn into a three story car park in the City and watched his tail as he drove up the ramp. _There_, he pinged the blacked-out four wheel drive as it also followed into the car park. He took the first available spot in the disable parking bay, switched off the engine and ducked down.

His eyes peeled ahead, the Stalker ignored the _disable_ parking area. At 9:30 am, the car park was nearly at full capacity, he has driven further along when Spike turned on the ignition, reversed out of park and scooted out towards the exit. The Stalker angrily did a quick U turn, burning the rubber. He threw all caution and subtlety out the window. He's been pinged. There was no need to pretend otherwise.

He gave chase, looked to the left and right on the street and just saw the break lights of the 1985 BMW coupe as it stopped at the traffic light. Spike thumped the steering wheel, willing the light to change to green, it did just as the SUV came to within 50 meters.

He was by now bewildered and confused, _Why on earth would someone be chasing me all across town?_ _Can't be SRU-related_. He called CSIS, the country's intelligence agency where he has been a consultant for over two-years. A communications specialist answered, "What can I do for you?"

He gave his consultant number and asked for a specific number plate to be traced, the reply was, "Give me a minute."

Spike took a sharp left turn into an alley; _at least_, he said to himself, _I have the advantage of knowing my City streets_. When the answer came back, it didn't give him anything to go by, "It's a rental, hired by Allen Flores. Do you know anyone by that name?"

"Nope," he said. "But he's definitely after me..."

"If you have a photo ID, run it... and you better hurry." The communications officer heard Spike swear his head off as the BMW skidded sideways, having over corrected when he nearly collided with a garbage truck. "Run it..." he said breathless.

"On it."

When the photo ID was ran, it sent an alert to Military Intelligence, Jones was back on her desk and was momentarily frozen. "Shit, shit, shit." She hauled in their techie's ass, "Find out whose flagging Alan Fleuer." It only took minutes for the fresh-faced guy to say, "CSIS."

"CSIS? Why?" she asked dumb-founded. The barely out of teens boy picked up the phone and cheekily said, "Press 2."

She rolled her eyes, "Patch me."

She felt her skin crawl when told, "Alan Fleuer aka Allen Flores is in town chasing an SRU officer in the streets of Toronto." She immediately thought of Sam, _Jesus,_ but just to be sure, she asked who was in peril, "Our consultant, Spike Scarlatti."

"Who the hell is Spike Scarlatti?"

"He's our man at SRU."

_SRU! There's your connection._ "OK, leave it with me." She called Sam on his encrypted phone. He answered sleepily and bolted upright when he heard Jones say, "Alan Fleuer, the Stalker, is here. We believe he's after you. Sam, get out now. NOW, SAM." Jones' voice was shaky and she was screaming down the line.

He hurriedly put his drawstring pants on, looked around for Jules and Sadie and nearly had a panic attack when he couldn't find them. _Fuck. Fuck._ He was flapping. Then he saw the note with her pretty scribbles and drawing of little flowers, "Gone to the park."

Barefoot, he raced out the door and slippery-dipped down the railing of the stairs. He spotted a skate board, didn't know who owned it, didn't care. He grabbed it and skated down the familiar path. It didn't take long for him to spot her backside, jogging easily pushing a stroller. He came along side her and said, "We gotta go! Quick."

"Here, take this..." he gave her the skate board, "Meet me at the corner... go and don't go home."

"Why?"

"No questions, just go." Jules skated off, Sam ran with the baby. Spike reached the corner just as Jules stopped to catch her breath, "Jules," he called out. He has stopped alongside her and asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm not sure, it's Sam," she pointed in his direction. Sam was now just 15 metres away from them, "Jules, get in the car... NOW. NOW..."

Spike didn't know what was going on, but hell, Samtastic was going ballistic, so he better open the rear door ASAP. Sam unstrapped the baby from the stroller, handed her to his wife, "Spike, take them away. Don't come back for me. Stay low whatever happens."

He stared at her eyes, blue eyes flashing with emotion, "**Don't make me worry about you. It will do my head in.**"

"Ok, I love you," was all she managed to say.

"I love you. Spike, look after them."

They got in the car, Spike was just merging into traffic when the black SUV came into view. The Stalker saw Sam barefoot and unarmed. He skidded to a stop as Sam bolted to the opposite direction. Jules looked back from the rear window in time to see the Stalker give chase.

"Stop, " she hollered. Spike hit the brakes but refused to let her out of his vehicle. Instead, he fished out his phone and called SRU, Team Three was on duty. Toby, the acting team leader picked up the call. "Feed us on the fly, Spike. We're on our way." Spike gave them direction to the park, then drove away to his home to keep Jules and Sadie safe.

Sam took off where he knew few people wander into, the less collateral damage, the better. He didn't look back, he focused all his energy into creating as much distance as he could from the Stalker. He found himself in a section of the park where there were more trees than scrubs. He looked back, he couldn't see the Stalker, chances were, he couldn't see him too.

He went behind a tree, looking for nooks in between trunks, gnarls, bark holes, small branches or knots and quickly climbed up. He inserted his foot into nook where it fitted and pushed up to reach the lowest branch. He pulled himself up into the branches and kept going upward, making sure as he moved along that his feet were in sturdy places before letting go of the branches. He stayed as close to the trunk as possible, both for cover and safety.

He crouched low on the branch as he spied the Stalker looking around, surveying the surroundings with clear eyes.

He, in turn, surveyed the tree; looking for anything he could use as a weapon. A thinner branch hang just in front of him. He let out a slow, deep breath. _Timing would be everything._

Team Three arrived at the scene without sirens and lights, uniformed officers were instructed to set-up a perimeter and to evacuate the early morning patrons. Without fanfare, Team Three tactically cleared every section of the park, from the outside perimeter closing in.

It didn't take long for the Stalker to spot Sam. He pulled something out of his pocket; Sam noticed it glistened in his adversary's hand. It could only be a knife, his brain processed the information, he was sure the Stalker wouldn't miss. _When he throw that knife at me, I'm dead. _ He was at a disadvantage... _or maybe not_...

_Timing is everything._

The Stalker flexed his arm back to throw the knife at him, Sam squatted down, grab hold of the branch he was standing on. As the knife swish through the air, he bodily slid down the branch but hang on to it. The metallic AirKat knife hit the trunk and twang in the air. He swung round the branch, as a gymnast would a high bar. He landed on his feet on the branch, attempted to pull the knife out but it was well embedded.

At this stage, members of Team Three has reached them, the Stalker looked round him to see six black-clad elite police officers have surrounded him. He knew the game was up. He looked at Sam with his icy pale blue eyes that could deep freeze a weaker man, and said, "This is not over."

Sam stared back with his sky blues and said, "Fuck you."

Alan Fleuer raised both arms up, Toby was closing in on him when a shot rang out, the Stalker dropped heavily on the ground with a bullet wound to his head. They all looked around, quizzing each other, and they all said, "Not me."

Sam looked around from his perch. On the roof of a building he saw a sparkle. _The scope of a sniper's rifle._ But who?

Minutes later, a beautiful Asian woman was seen getting into a taxi cab heading for the airport.


	16. Lifting the Veil

_Author's Note: Spike and Winnie miscarried in the story "Full Metal Jacket."_

_This is the part of roller coaster ride when everything you've been through; the ups, the downs, the twists and the turns; makes you think it was all worthwhile._

_I believe in pure and adulterated romance, I hope you do, too. Thank you all for coming with me for the ride._

**Lifting the Veil**

Sam knew what's going to happen next: briefing, debriefing, investigations, inquiries, etc, etc, etc. Then they'd all find out, sooner rather than later, that there would be more questions than there would be answers. So while everyone was busy speaking to their head sets, he jumped off his perch and ran back to the apartment complex.

He retrieved a set of keys from under a rock, showed himself in and methodically packed three bags of essentials: for him, Jules and Sadie. He did a quick mental check, he excelled in this. Primarily he focused on his little one. _Formula, check. Bottles, check. Diapers, check. Clothes, check. Baby blanket, check. Jackets, sweaters, thighs, check. _

He grabbed his kit from under the floor boards, collected his car keys, wallet, badge, cell phones, and lastly a first aid kit.

He ran down the stairs at full tilt, jumping five steps at a time. He tossed the bags in the trunk of Jules' car and hooned out of the garage like a man possessed. Spike didn't live far from them, within 10 minutes he was jumping the fence spooking Moppet and Serenity, the Scarlatti's two golden retrievers. The fevered barking alerted Spike to an intruder, he quickly handed Jules a handgun, "Stay down and don't come out."

The very security conscious Spike Scarlatti rigged his house with cameras, he checked the monitors and was relieved to find a barefoot, topless guy out in his yard, who could only be Samuel Braddock. But, just in case, he ordered Jules to stay put. He came out of his home office to check out Sam, "Hey," he said smiling.

Sam smiled back, gave Spike a brotherly embrace followed by a sharp thump on his back, "I could really appreciate not having to see my physio for once," joked the Techie.

"Follow me. I'll take you to them." He led Sam to his secure home office then made himself scarce leaving the young family alone for a reunion.

Jules and Sam stood facing each other for a while, a whole heap of emotion swirling around. He made the first move, reaching out to hook his arm around her neck and pulled her gently to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, fingers laced together behind him. They stood fused as one entity for awhile, locked in a tender embrace, her face buried in his chest.

When she finally found her voice, she said, "Are you ok?" He gazed down at her face, and wondered what he has done in his life to deserve her. She could have asked, "What have you done?" or "What's the matter with you?" or "What the hell do you think you were doing?" She could and she'd be entitled to. But she didn't. She asked, "Are you ok?"

The depth of their relationship has transcended the physical, when it used to be mostly the fiery passion of bodies tangled together or lips interlocked. It was that, sure, as the physical attraction has not waned but it was also the subtleties. The gentle touches, the cheeky winks here and there, the casual "I miss you" and the "Y ou're tired so let me take the baby."

"I am," he said, "Are you?"

"You are so I am," she replied.

A fussing sound reminded them they weren't alone. It would be much later before they get another chance if he didn't take it now, so he kissed her hungrily, passionately before letting her go to attend to the little one. Having a baby has redefined their relationship. But he wouldn't change a thing for Sadie has strengthened it, too, in more ways than one.

He left Jules and Sadie for a minute, went in search of Spike who was in the main house making sandwiches. "You guys must be starving." Sam looked at the kitchen island bench full of yummy stuff, he swallowed on reflex, "Thanks, buddy."

"Don't mention it." He handed Sam a ham and cheese sandwich. "Tea or coffee?"

"Your special blend of cappuchino," he replied.

"Coming right up," Spike pressed a button in his Italian coffeemaker, "So what's next?"

"We're gonna disappear for a few days. I'm not back for another four days anyway, officially." Spike understood the implication, _People will be looking for me, I'd appreciate it if you play dumb_.

Jules soon joined them, Sam brightened up, "Hey beautiful, Spike's making us sandwiches." The techie just smiled, "My Ma will be upset if I don't treat my guest right."

"Not to mention, Winnie," said Jules. "How's she by the way?"

"Busy with work."

"And…?" Apart from their parents, only Jules and Sam knew Winnie miscarried their first child. It was devastating for both of them but more so for Winnie.

"She's doing well. She's come to terms with it."

"And you?"

"I'm good." He smiled meaningfully, "We're trying again," he said.

"Ah hah," she said, "that's cool." Observing the meaningful glances that passed between Spike and Jules, Sam was left to wonder what he missed.

"Eat your sandwich," Spike said, "Don't choke on it." Jules kicked him in the shin.

Once Sam has polished off a tray of sandwiches, it was time to go. "Well, we better be going, thanks again, Spike."

"Anytime, buddy. You guys take care, ok."

Sam strapped the baby in the car seat, shook hands with Spike who just out of curiosity asked, "What's your SF nickname?"

The blonde smiled and said, "That's for me to know and for you to find out." There was **no way** in hell he'd tell him his nickname was "Blondie" he'd never live it down. And besides it's meant to be a secret.

Spike smiled cheekily, raise an eyebrow to indicate, _Guess what I've known all along_. Sam's brow furrowed and thought_, No way! There's no fucking way you know_.

Sam shook his head and voiced his doubt, "No way…. No fucking way you know."

"You sure?" asked Spike, "Anyway, your secret is safe with me."

Sam looked taken aback, "It you ever breathe a word of it to anyone, I will kill you." Spike laughed his head off. The blonde warrior was horrified and shook his pretty little head, drove off after he checked that Jules was properly strapped.

As soon as he couldn't see their vehicle anymore, Spike's face crunched_, I wonder what it is_, he thought. _Maybe I should hack into Military Intelligence, on second thought… I value my life more than I want to know his secret_.

Jules wondered where they were going when they missed the turn to their apartment. Finally, unable to contain her curiosity she asked, "Uh, where are we going?" By this time, they were now outside the city limits. The road was devoid of traffic and the scenery has changed dramatically from a forest of buildings to a forest of trees.

He stopped the car by the roadside, stroked her cheek with his ring finger, "We're travelling without GPS, no road map, no road directory and all our phones are turned off. Look around you, I want you to memorise the scenery, and this turn off." She looked out and under the window to read the sign, "I need you to be able to find your way to the safe house on your own, just in case. It's my hidey hole. It's time you know. No more secrets. IT's one I had since my return from SF duties. There are people from my past who hold grudges."

She laughed, "You don't have to go that far back…" He nodded, "Yeah with our job… we get a lot of enemies."

He paused; then asked another question that seemed to her non-sequitur, "How fast was I driving?"

"Sorry," she said, surprised by the question.

"Humour me," he said, "How fast?"

"Well, I think about 80 kpm, more or less." He smiled, "Good girl."

He started the trusty Honda Civic Hybrid again. They drove in silence, Sadie lulled to sleep by the smooth movement of the car. He placed her hand on the gear stick, his hand over hers. The silence was broken only when he asked, "How long have we been driving?"

She looked at him in wonderment, he asked again, "How long, honey, tell me?"

She thought for a moment, "About half an hour."

"Good. In what direction are we travelling?" She's never seen this side of him before, it was such a revelation to her, "East. I think we're heading east."

"Good," he stopped the car again, pointed out the look-out, a viewing platform for tourist to see the views. He got out and invited her to do the same. "This is one of your landmarks. After the turn off, estimate the time. After roughly 30 minutes of driving and you haven't seen the look-out, you're heading in the wrong direction, got it?" She nodded, still not sure what was going on but for now she'll play along.

This went on for much of three hours. Now and again, he asked her, "How long have we been driving since the last landmark?" "What direction were we travelling?" "How fast are we going?" "See that old station house over there…" "See the sign…"

He was patient and careful. Pointing out landmarks, making certain she was remembering the minute details, asking questions like "What was the first landmark?" "The second?" By the time they've gone through the details, she was confident she'd find her way to this place blind folded.

They've been driving outside of the city limits for over three hours, not counting the stops they had made, suddenly, he said, "We're here."

She got out of the car, and gasped. "Wow, wow." She looked at him, mouth a little open,.

"Welcome to Paradise," he said. The car stopped in a clearing, on a small rise. He parked the Honda in between two maple trees, screening it from view both from the road and the sky overhead.

He took Sadie out of the car and handed her over to Jules, he took all their bags in one hand so he could drape a protective arm around her. They walked down together to this wide, open space of green and yellow and orange and little purple wild flowers. There were a couple of cows, two horses, a foal and ducks, all wild and free as can be.

There was an old barn, from the outside, it appeared so dilapidated it would be illegal just to open the door, let alone walk into it. He strode confidently towards it, took a key from under a rock, move the barn doors wide open.

She stood outside transfixed. The barn was unpainted but livable. In the centre was a cot, "How did you get that in here?" she asked bemused.

He smiled, "When there's a will, there's a way." He gave her a gentle push on the small of her back, "Come in… it's yours now, too. Our refuge. Our sanctuary."

She looked around. Her heart skipped when she found a photo of her hanging on the wall. There's one of Sadie and them as a family. A cupboard full of toys. A bookcase full of books, those that disappeared from their apartment which he claimed he donated to St Vincent de Paul. A wardrobe of her clothes, and his and their baby. "One day, you'll tell me how you did it."

Lastly, he showed her a concealed cabinet full of deadly weapons. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he said.

It was all too much to take in…. All of it. She looked at him, tilted her head slightly to the left, smiled and said, "I don't know what to say…"

He shrugged, "You don't have to say anything, you can kiss me, though."

They kissed until they both have to draw breath; then she said, "You're amazing."

He laughed, "You might change your mind after just one day…. No mod con I'm afraid. No electricity, so it would be candle and match power all the way. No air conditioning, but we have a fireplace… great for romantic evenings. We have to kill the cow for meat, or its gonna be tin food and army ration. No running water but we have our own creek 365 days a year except when it's frozen in winter."

They walk arm in arm to the great outdoors. "And for the toilet…" he gestured with his arms, "… take your spot." She cackled, he listened to the sound of her laughter and he thought, _Well, yeah, I'm in paradise._

And he didn't have to be martyred to find it in the here and now.

**The End**

_P.S. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. I confess; I'm a little apprehensive. _


End file.
